Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wally came back into the present speed with a small tornado of air that whipped around the small bathroom he’d cornered himself in, and by smacking into the dark bricks hard enough to break his nose.

“Oh!” Wally staggered back, beyond grateful there was nobody else in the room, as blood spurted from his nostrils. “Shit! Shoot!” His nose repaired itself fast—perks of having speed healing—but there was nothing Wally could do for his now blood splattered shirt. Perfect, just perfect. “The curse of Gotham,” Wally muttered, trying to get the blood out with a damp towel but it only made him look like he’d pissed his shirt too.

Wally threw the towel in the garbage with the loudest sigh he could give.

Then he looked around.

Wally had been to queer bars in Keystone City and Jump City… and the occasional trip to one in Coast City that had really amazing desserts—an absolute wizard of a chef—but Gotham’s immediately stood out.

The black brick with dim lights and a deep rainbow floor was… imposing, Wally decided, as he looked around and it sunk in for the first time that he was in Gotham City. The stuff of legends. Of cautionary tales. Wally’s skin prickled just at the thought of what the Bat would do if he found Wally on his streets. Probably rip him apart or use his DNA for science experiments.

Meta-humans weren’t overly rare but there were still way too many people who wanted to pick them apart just for curiosity’s sake.

“Hello Gotham,” Wally murmured, before exiting the bathroom.

Wally was instantly blinded by a spotlight before it moved and his eyes adjusted. The same black bricks ran throughout the room but there were more rainbow lights now. The lights behind the bar were rainbow. Rainbow motifs and queer flags were displayed on the wall. The people in the bar moved and danced and talked and mingled.

They looked like ordinary people and not people who lived in a daily apocalypse.

Wally wondered if he just might survive his excursion.

As he wandered through the crowd, small, imperceptible strands of lightning began to spark up and down his forearms at the sight of it all. Queer people had always been resistant, their existence always a protest to the hate that filled the world like smoke. Seeing them in Gotham—knowing that they were resistant even in Gotham—was more than enough to make Wally emotional.

Gothamites hadn’t had a chance, when the Bat took over. They never stood a chance.
Wally had always believed that the people of Gotham were oppressed and silent, watched as closely as prisoners in jail. Not living their lives. Not loving whoever they wanted.

They lived their lives despite their struggles, despite the soldiers outside, and the barricades at the city border.

And Wally… craved their strength.

Maybe coming to Gotham was a good idea. Maybe something would come out of this.

Something good.

--

Gotham’s Girls, Gays, and Theys smelled strongly of human sweat. The smell wafted enough in the air to make Dick’s skin prickle the moment he walked in. Human bodies smelled strongly, Dick had come to learn, since his reawakening with the Bat. Dick was used to most smells: the smell of blood, fresh and old; the thick, choking scent of putrid smoke; the smell of sweat grown with grunts of pain emanating from bruises and broken bones. Dick knew these scents, had catalogued them in his memories so well he could pick out the chemical bases for the Bat’s head scientists in ways that would cause eyebrows to raise.

This was different.

This was a sea of mind-numbing incense designed to make Dick’s walls crumble.

The moment Dick walked in, he choked, stopping in his step.

From somewhere deep in his childhood, the Bat’s voice hissed, Speak.

“Coconut lip balm,” Dick murmured, the words washing weight off his shoulder blades. “Pink pineapple perfume. Mimosas. Cherry lipstick. Storm colognes.” Too many pink cowboy hats and rainbow nails flashing in the dark. A sea of heads bobbed to the music, cheering and whopping as colourful spotlights roved over the crowd. Dick’s ears caught the dozens of clink-clinks the drinks made, hitting tables, rings, hands, each other.

The constant movement made his camera-like eyes burn.

The door was still open behind him, cool night air nipping at his ankles. Dick could leave, run, and no one from the Bat’s empire would be the wiser.

But there was something—that lightning quick scent of different—Dick had come all this way to follow.

Dick had not gained favour by being a coward.

He was about to move, his foot poised to lift off the ground, when a hand clapped him on the back and gripped.

His instincts took over.

Dick grabbed the hand on his shoulder, spun, and slammed the stranger against the now-closed doors of the club.

“Whoa, whoa!” Hands scrabbled for Dick’s throat, and he tensed instinctively, waiting for fingernails to drive into his throat, but instead they grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pushed Dick back. He let them.

“Whoa, there!” A British accent. The person had scruffy blond hair, messy with glitter, and piercing ice blue eyes. Part of their head was shaved with red hearts dyed on. Dick noted the heavy silver rings, white tank top with a loose red tie, and tight black jeans, before he let go of the person’s collar.

“Sorry,” he said. “My bad.”

The person scoffed. “Right. You just go slamming every person who touches you, eh? That’s cool. Not my thing. What I meant to tell you is, you’re in the way.”

“You have a British accent,” Dick said.

“It’s called an English accent, mate,” they said. “And yeah. Just ‘cause ‘ur big ol’ Bat loves keepin’ Gotham tighter than the Alcatraz, doesn’t mean it’s impenetrable.” Their blue eyes flicked over Dick’s body. “Now move. Or, if you’re not going to move, give me ‘ur name and then scramble before I make you.”

“Dick,” Dick said and then moved out of the way.

The person flashed him a leering grin and patted Dick on the shoulder. “That’s a good lad. Name’s Constantine. Feel free to use it. Or not. I don’t care.”

And then they walked away, snagging several drinks as they disappeared into the crowd.

Dick did not watch them leave.

He followed, only he steered himself in another direction, fumbling a new path into the frenzy. It was not unlike splitting up from Vulture or Peregrine in the heat of a night chase, following the blurry movements and lights his Talon senses barely caught the edge of. Racing through Gotham air and the dizzying lights of billboards and skyscrapers until he leaped, air that he didn’t need in his lungs—and crashed down on a warm body with his knives.

It felt like that.

Like getting lost.

Like breathing.

Dick’s brain felt on autopilot, out of his hands’ control.

What were Dick’s orders now?

He was following his own.

Alone but not rogue, not—

Someone was shoved into Dick’s side. Dick righted himself in time and barely avoided bumping into a trio of girls dancing in large pink cowboy hats. Their music was disjointing. Dick stumbled over a fallen someone’s ankle, and the next elbow that hit his ribs sent goosebumps down his spine. Dick didn’t like any of this. It made him sick; the constant contact of naked skin on skin, the eerie laughter that sounded more like Jack Napier’s work than actual enjoyment, the flashing lights. It was disorienting. Dick’s head swam.

Get air, his Talon side instructed him.

I’m on my own now, Dick’s human side fought back, battering invisible walls with blood.

Then suffocate, Dick’s talon side hissed.

Someone’s hand wandered down Dick’s shoulder.

Dick’s stomach lurched and he pushed through the crowd, intent on finding air.

He hadn’t realised how far into the crowd he had gone until he broke through a line of people, into a warm, dimly lit section of the room with only the dregs of the club’s main attendance: the bar at the back.

Like a line separated the two areas, the bar had polished brown wood flooring and yellow lights that permeated the darkness. When Dick turned around, neon purple spotlights and silver confetti filled his vision. A single spin and all of that faded away.

“Like Tim and Jason,” Dick murmured.

Several round circles filled the space. Two bartenders walked back and forth along the length of the bar, refilling glasses and pulling out credit card machines. It was peaceful there.

Dick could breathe there.

And then the silence broke.

“Come on, just one drink!”

Maybe it was because Dick was only a few feet away, maybe it was because Dick was looking around and no one else was, but nobody else seemed to hear the louder-than-it-should-have-been shout.

Dick’s eyes narrowed and his vision tunnelled.

Two people sat at the bar; one was clearly drunk, leaning heavily on the bar counter and smiling a bit too widely. Dick had encountered many of this type, shoving them out of the way to continue his missions. The other looked uneasy; they kept glancing around the room as if searching for an exit.

When their eyes met Dick’s, they mouthed, help me.

Should Dick help them?

Is that what humans did, they helped each other when one asked?

Or was this another step somewhere Dick didn’t want to go?

Like using Constantine’s name the way Dick had heard it called, with familiarity and intent.

Would Jason help him?

…would Stephanie have?

“Hey, Barry!” Dick called.

Despite having eyes on him, the uneasy person flinched but recovered fast.

“Oh, my god, hey…” they trailed off.

Dick, Dick mouthed.

“Rick!” they exclaimed. The drunk person turned, confused. “It’s so good to see you here! I thought you were working late.”
Dick’s mind raced to one of Tim’s backstories. “Yeah, sorry, my boss held me up to fix one of Damian’s mistakes.” He shrugged, then looked directly at the drunk person. “Who are you?”

The drunk person looked at Barry. “Who is this?”

“I’m their friend,” said Dick.

“Yep,” Barry said. “My friend. This is my friend. Rick. Rick and I are here for drinks. You wouldn’t mind giving us some, uh, privacy, would you?”

The drunk person glared at Dick.

Dick glared back, his coldest glare possible. It worked.

The drunk person recoiled and then stalked away, muttering insults under their breath.

The moment they were out of earshot, Barry crumpled in relief. “Thank you,” they said. “Oh my god. That could have been a real nightmare if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“You can’t defend yourself?” asked Dick.

“Oh, I can,” Barry said. “I would have just caused a major scene and that really isn’t the vibe I’m looking for on my first night in Gotham, you know?” They smiled. “My name’s Wally, by the way. Pronouns are he/him. That was, uh, quick thinking with Barry. It—definitely threw him for a loop.”

Wally.

Wally had red hair that curved on the left side and fell into his eyes, green eyes tinged with hazel. The many freckles on his face glew in the dim lighting. He wore a black t-shirt with a green flannel and jeans that blackened at the ends. His shoes were pristine though, as if the dirt simply fell off.

“Dick. He/him.” Dick extended his hand. He didn’t know why.

Wally raised an eyebrow but shook his hand, with a slight laugh. “Handshaking. Okay. Kind of traditional but I’m not against it.”

“Traditional?” Dick said.

Wally shrugged. “Most people don’t shake hands nowadays. People barely wave. But I liked it.” His eyes were glued to Dick’s face. “It’s nice.”

Dick didn’t know if that was a compliment or a statement.

He fell back on analytical tactics.

“You said it’s your first night in Gotham,” Dick said. “You’re new to town?”

Just ‘cause ‘ur big ol’ Bat loves keepin’ Gotham tighter than Alcatraz, doesn’t mean it’s impenetrable.

“Oh, yeah. I’m here for a business meeting,” Wally said. “What about you, do you live here?”

Dick nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Gotham doesn’t really get a ton of visitors.”

What are your motives? Why are you here?

Wally snorted. “So I’ve heard. My shareholders wouldn’t move our meeting. Something about Gotham being a political Switzerland because it’s so removed, which doesn’t even begin to make sense…” He trailed off with a grimace. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”

“I don’t mind,” Dick said. Jason’s blunder, Tim’s arrogance, and his own encounter with Stephanie Brown flashed through his mind, tensing his muscles with frustration.

Wally seemed to read his emotions from his face. “Rough day at work?”

“You could say that,” Dick muttered.

Wally offered him a small smile. “Same here. Want a drink? It’s on me. Consider it a hero’s reward, for being my knight in shining armour.” He tilted his head to the barstool next to him, the seat the drunk person had vacated.

Dick’s whole body tingled looking at it.

This was why Dick had come. To interact. To meet different people. To pretend to be something he wasn’t.

There was a reason Dick hadn’t stuck to his usual routine of finding a corner in The Lucky Cat, under Selina’s watchful eye, with a beer pressed to his lips.

Do it.

Talons’ palms don’t sweat.

Do it.

Talons never had hesitation.

“Sure. Just a beer.” Dick slid into the seat and shoved his hands under his legs. “Thanks.”

Wally eyed him, that small smile flickering. “You don’t drink often?”

“Almost never,” Dick said, and his chuckle almost felt instinctive.

“Right. Would you hate me if I upgrade you to a scotch? I have this friend—he went from being a beer guy to a scotch guy and never looked back,” Wally offered. “If you seriously hate it, I’ll buy you a beer.”

Was this…

Dick was staring. He blinked to get out of it. “I’ll trust your word..”

Wally grinned and flagged down one of the bartenders. “A whiskey on the rocks and a scotch, please.”

The bartender started on their drinks.

“You’re cheerful, coming into Gotham,” Dick commented. “Most find our skies too depressing.”

Wally gave him a look. “And there’s the constant police oppression.”

“Right. That.” Dick hadn’t intended to be humorous but Wally laughed.

Wally’s laugh was unlike Jason’s laugh. When Jason laughed, it was short and bright, like a firework dying thousands of feet in the air, destined to be consumed by the cold. Wally laughed like he had all the time in the world. Like laughing was a part of him, ingrained in his bones.

Dick couldn’t remember if laughing had been like that for him.

Wally stopped laughing but his eyes still smiled. “You’re funny.”

Their drinks came and Dick took a sip of his scotch, leaning on the wooden bar countertop. It tasted like Gotham smoke but with a taste of something more. “That’s not what my coworkers say.”

“Nah.” Wally leaned on the bar too, but with his elbows, facing the crowd. “I bet you’re a real treat outside of work.”

“I don’t get out much,” Dick said.

“That’s too bad,” Wally said. “I was kind of hoping to explore some of Gotham’s sights… You know, take in Gotham the proper way. Learnall there is to offer before I head back to boring Keystone City, which is like the opposite of Gotham. Literally nothing happens there. In a good way, I guess.”

“What, no constant crime? No vigilantes?” Dick asked, playing along.

Wally pressed his whiskey to Dick’s chest. His eyes glowed like lightning in a storm. “Not even one.”

Dick’s breath caught in his chest. He found it suddenly hard to speak. “Well. That’s weird.”

Wally grinned, unabashedly. “Right? Got to have at least one!” He drained his whiskey glass.

Dick looked away.

“Well,” Wally said, staring at the dregs of his drink. “Want to come with me? Maybe spend a few hours seeing what Google Maps offers us?”

“You want me to come with you?” Dick was surprised.

Wally caught his eyes again, but this time, Dick’s breath did not get caught. Instead the dance floor—with its neon lights and bodies and perfumes—had never seemed farther away.

“It’s not like I’m going to go it alone,” Wally said.

No Claws would be caught dead inside a bar, pub, or club. The Empire didn’t tolerate any tomfoolery.
Outside was different. There were patrols late at night. Tim and Jason were asleep but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be woken for a mission—and Cassowary and Augury were still out.

If Dick was spotted—if someone recognized him—if—

If. If. If.

Talons dealt in logic.

Not ifs.

Logically, this was a bad move. Logically, this was a poor decision.

But Dick—Dick wanted to believe in bad decisions. So badly. For Jason. For Stephanie. For himself. For the part of him that drove him to protect those under his wing, who got so angry at Stephanie for leaving, for the part of himself that left the compound that night under the cover of anonymity.

For the person he had been twenty years ago. Eleven.

“Or,” Wally said, insecurity filtering onto his face, “I can find someone else. It’s no biggie.”

“No, I’ll go,” Dick said. “But Gotham is different, so just… don’t lose me.”

Something on Wally’s face changed fractionally. “I don’t plan to.”

--

“Okay,” Wally said, the moment the cool air hit their faces. He dug his hands into the pocket of his jeans, wishing to all of the celestial gods up in the sky he had remembered to grab his bomber jacket with the fluffy collar before heading to Gotham. It may be summertime but the night still got pretty chilly. “Hit me. All the pizza places you can think of.”

His companion frowned momentarily, and Wally was about to rescind his offer, wondering why the guy never ate pizza when Dick said, “Gotham Pizza is the trademarked brand but it isn’t very popular among locals. There’s a few prissy places in the more expensive districts but they base their menu on their clientele. I think a couple of places closer to Crime Alley are the better ones. More of the unhomed group there to dumpster dive.”

Wally stopped on the sidewalk to stare at Dick.

Dick fidgeted, clearly unused to the attention. “What?”

“Dude.” Wally chuckled breathily. “That was, like, the most amount of words I’ve heard from you the entire ten minutes I’ve known you. Holy shit. Why do you know so much about Gotham pizza places?”

Dick stared at him back, and Wally flushed when he realised how wordy he came off as. He’d held it together in the bar, the knife of Gotham clipped to his throat, but all it took was a few minutes outside to lose all of his filters. Way to go, Wally, he internally chided.

“Sorry.” Wally rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve been told I have no filter.”

“It’s fine.” Dick’s eyes lingered. Wally liked it. “I had to do some research for work once.”

Wally laughed. “On pizza places?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s one of Gotham’s nicer qualities.”

“I bet.” They started walking again and Wally pulled up Google Maps on his phone. “Okay. You’re right,” he said, after a few minutes of silent searching. “The places near Crime Alley have way better ratings.”

“You seem like you’re hungry,” Dick commented.

Wally’s face heated up. “High metabolism,” he mumbled, before clearing his throat. “Unless you have some better suggestions. You’re the one who lives here.”

Dick’s eyes kept flickering all over the street. “I told you before, I don’t get out much.”

“Oh, come on,” Wally prodded, nudging Dick with his shoulder. “No… arcades? Paint studios? Milkshake diners? Bars?”

“We just came from a bar,” Dick said. “And I don’t think milkshake diners exist anymore.”

Wally swallowed. “Okay, so maybe I don’t get out that much either.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and considered finding a geo-kinetic to swallow him up into the sidewalk.

After a few seconds in which they turned a corner, and Wally sidestepped a cat with a suspiciously large gem hanging from its collar, Dick said, “There’s an arcade a few blocks away.”

Wally’s head snapped to look at Dick. “Really?” He grinned. “See? I knew you would come through!”

Dick’s mouth opened and closed.

Wally’s good mood sank. “What is it?” he asked.

Dick looked around, his blue eyes seemingly finding all the nooks and crannies Wally’s non-Gotham eyes couldn’t, before he said, “Due to high rebel activity in the area, the arcade is often raided. I’m not at risk, but you—you’re foreign.”

It was funny. For Wally, foreign typically described anyone out of country, or in broader terms, anyone from off planet. For Dick, foreign meant anyone not in Gotham.

“I can handle myself,” Wally found himself saying.

Dick didn’t look placified. “You couldn’t handle one tipsy asshole.”

Wally sputtered. “Excuse me?”

Dick was smiling now as he shrugged. “What? It’s the truth.”

Wally laughed.

He didn’t know what it was about Dick, what pulled him to the other man, like an invisible string. Wally wasn’t sure why he had asked Dick to explore Gotham with him… if he tried describing it, he would sound like a fool. But Dick had agreed. Dick had come to Wally’s rescue. Dick was there, with him, standing on the sidewalk.

Wally met a lot of people in his line of work. Dating had always been hard. Forget the added stress and responsibilities of being a vigilante, but the general public still wasn’t very warm to the idea of metahumans. Metahumans brought dangers. Vigilantes were dangerous.

In his line of work, Wally mostly met people who were scared. They froze in fear. They didn’t know how to protect themselves.

Dick knew how to protect himself, Wally knew without a doubt.

He could just tell.

And so part of what made Wally swallow and his eyes crinkle as he looked at Dick, was the safety in knowing that if Wally just let himself go, be loose for a night, see where things led, that maybe it wouldn’t end as tragically as stories from his coworkers. Maybe this was a chance he could take—without holding his breath, without worrying.

Without worry. Wally liked the idea of that.

But it was still Gotham. So Wally reigned in his rush of overthoughts.

“Take me to the arcade,” he said.

Dick wordlessly nodded.

It was a fifteen minute walk. The entire time, Dick took his role of guide very seriously and pointed out small things about the places they passed by, little things Wally would never have known. If Wally wasn’t busy laughing at the jokes Dick made, he was too busy smiling at Dick, who seemed oblivious to how gorgeous he was. And the entire time, Taylor Swift songs looped through Wally’s brain like a record player left unattended.

Gorgeous.

Delicate.

I Think He Knows.

Invisible String.

Wally’s phone was cold in his pocket. He’d taken his SIM out. If ignoring the world was wrong, Wally didn’t want to be right. He knew he shouldn’t, that Jackson and Raven would be worried, but… well. A metaphorical broken glass shard in Wally’s chest pushed at the idea of talking to either of them. That could wait.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Gorgeous returned to being the main track. Fuck, Wally was done for. Dick was really pretty. Even more so outside of a bar. Under the flickering dim streetlights and the smokey sky, Dick looked made for fitting within the shadows.

The entrance to the arcade was in between a grocery store and an apartment building. The door was slim, barely able to fit Wally’s broad shoulders, and he wasn’t even that bulked. Compared to Jackson, Wally was downright thin. Dick walked in with his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants

Inside was a large space crammed with old video game machines and racing games, new and modern. Wally even spotted a gigantic Connect-4, like the arcades in Keystone City had.

Wally looked at Dick with an eyebrow raised. “No extra security?”

It might have been Wally’s imagination, but Dick looked a little tense. “They say they have nothing to hide.”

Wally wasn’t sure who they were.

“Do you come here often?” Wally asked, as they walked to the ticketing booth. Prizes lined the back wall. Not nearly as many as a Keystone City arcade but enough to draw some excitement. A kid worked there, with mousy brown hair and a lithe frame. He looked up with shadowed eyes when they approached.

Dick handed over some money. “Sometimes. With my brothers.” Dick looked at the kid. “Fifty tickets.”

“Use tickets to play arcade games. Win game tickets to exchange for prizes,” the kid told them. “And most importantly, have fun.” There was little enthusiasm in his voice.

Wally forced a smile. “Thanks?” When his back was turned, Wally leaned close to Dick and said, “This place gets raided? A small arcade room with a single employee? Really?” It wasn’t that hard to believe, but Wally wouldn’t consider this a first priority to the Gotham government… however sadistic it tended to be.

“Dark corners,” Dick said by way of explanation, and maybe it really was a Gotham thing.

“Dark corners,” Wally said with a shake of his head, and this time, the corners of Dick’s mouth lifted.

They spent nearly an hour playing Tetris, in which Dick had to practically shove Wally off of the game to get him to stop wasting money. When Wally complained, Dick gave him a look, sat down in Tetris, and proceeded to win the top score. Wally was flabbergasted. Wally was hurt. And Wally was… completely and utterly taken away.

“How?” Wally demanded, as Dick calmly pulled the long stretch of tickets he’d won out of the machine. “That game is impossible!”

“Not impossible,” Dick said. “Easy.”

“Easy,” Wally muttered, moving to basketball. “We’ll see about easy.”
To Wally’s complete humiliation, Dick got top score on that machine too, and when Wally asked Dick how he could have possibly sunk two hundred basketballs into a rigged net, Dick laughed.

Dick immediately looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected himself to laugh, but then Wally was laughing too and they continued their laughing over at the next game and the next one.

Wally slowed to study Dick’s face as he settled into Mario Kart, the one machine Dick hadn’t smoked Wally’s ass at yet.

Heroic. Handsome. And great at arcade games?

Wally’s mouth slowly curved into a smile.

Jackpot.

---

Time slipped away without Dick meaning for it to. One moment, he and Wally were crowded over an air hockey table trying to get the puck out from where it was lodged in the goal slit, both of them laughing, and for Dick it was a little less fake than it could have been. In between what felt like one breath and the next, Dick was outside the arcade, breathing in the cold night air as Wally came up behind him with a soft smile.

Dick looked at him and time came rushing back. What had been moments had been hours. It was nighttime already, the moon leaning to the side. Distantly, Dick remembered that halfway across the city, the Bat was playing pretend in a room full of socialites, and that there was a clock against his neck.

Wally craned his neck to look at the stars. “Damn. Didn’t think Gotham got any.”

“We usually don’t,” Dick agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Talons didn’t like the cold.

Did Dick still consider himself a Talon?

“What are you thinking about?” Wally asked.

Dick stiffened. “My siblings,” he said, without meaning to.

He hadn’t thought about them all evening but now they were on his mind. Had Damian and Cassandra returned to the compound, or were they still on missions? When would they be back?

Dick’s Talon side didn’t like not knowing, but the Bat wasn’t very forthcoming with details.

“Oh,” Wally said. “Do you have a lot?”

“Four,” Dick said. Was that a lot?

Wally whistled. “Must have been a full house growing up.”

“We’re adopted,” said Dick. “I’m the oldest.”

“By how many years?” Wally asked. His tone wasn’t malicious but genuine.

This puzzled Dick, just like everything else.

The fact flitted to the front of his mind. “The youngest and I have a ten year age gap.”

Wally nudged his shoulder. Dick’s whole body, not used to the contact, tensed. “Are you worried about them?” Wally’s green eyes were open, sincere, and curious.

Dick glued his eyes to Wally’s gaze. “My parents don’t like me worrying about them. They don’t want me to be… distracted.”

The corners of Wally’s mouth shifted upwards. “Am I distracting you?”

Dick didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t have to: his burner phone rang. He pulled out his device and froze when the screen lit up. Cameras over the Finger River caught the Bat’s limo heading back towards the compound. Dick’s Talon brain whirled. Heavy traffic in that area would slow the Bat down for at least a half hour, from there it was an hour drive back to the base. The roads were direct but the Bat didn’t want anyone knowing Bruce Wayne was the face behind the iron hand that ruled the city.

Dick had an hour and a half. It would take him at least forty minutes to get back before the Bat knew he was gone. Before he checked the cameras himself and recognised the loop Dick had used. Damian had been caught once. When he’d first arrived at the compound, Damian had tried to return to the League that the Bat had stolen him from. His attempt was unsuccessful. Dick tried to learn from Cassowary’s mistake.

“Do you have to go?”

Dick looked up from his phone.

Wally’s hands were shoved in his pockets and he was looking at Dick through his lashes with a sad smile.

Dick knew what he had to say but the words stuck in his throat. They came out small. “Yeah. Sorry, Wally. I—something came up.”

“That’s cool. I know how it is. Some of the manufacturers I work with can be real assholes when they want to be.” Wally glanced down the street. “Do you need a cab? I can pay.”

“No, I’m okay,” Dick said.

“Okay,” Wally echoed.

They stared at each other. Dick hadn’t moved once. His phone remained in his hand, though the screen was now dark.
Talons never froze. This feeling—this was new to Dick. Feeling immovable. Being immovable.

Dick hadn’t perfected being human. “When do you leave Gotham?”

Wally rubbed the back of his neck. “A few days, probably. I still need to find a place to sleep.”

“What’s your price range?” Dick asked.

Wally made a sheepish face. “Money isn’t really an issue.”

“Try the Gotham Vision,” Dick said. “It’s got a better rating.” And high insurance from the Bat. Dick had spent many nights patrolling the perimeter.

“Okay, I will.” Wally grinned but it soon wavered. “And maybe we could exchange numbers? Or socials? I’m not really on the social media scene but I have an Instagram. We could try to see each other again before I leave… or I am being way too forward and you don’t want to see me again.”

Dick blinked. “That was a lot of words all at once.”

Wally’s face reddened. “I’ve been told I talk a lot.” His eyes met Dick’s. “Is that a yes? Or a no?”

Dick swallowed. He tried to say something but the words stuck in his throat. This was one of the times he wished being human—being Dick Grayson—didn’t mean talking all the time. His hands trembled with the effort it took not to sign. Signing wasn’t easy to explain. Humans signed. Dick knew they did. But Talon signed a lot more than he spoke and Dick Grayson did not. Or maybe it was simple and Dick didn’t know how to get there.

Everything seemed simple to non-Talons.

Dick just shoved his phone at Wally, brushing the fingerlock as the screen lit up. He nodded and hoped Wally understood.

There was also the very real possibility that Wally didn’t know any sign language. Jason knew because he liked talking to Dick. Tim knew because it was another skillset in his arsenal.

The Bat did not know. Or he did and he didn’t bother to use it with Dick.

Everything was so easy for non-Talons.

Thankfully, Wally caught on quickly and his face brightened. “Here. We can text then. I’ll just put my number in here… and I’ll text you to make sure it works.”

He handed Dick his phone back.

Wally typed something quickly and then Dick’s phone vibrated.

Wally: hi [1 MINUTE AGO]

“So I can just”—Dick stared at his phone—”text you? Whenever I’d like?” He left his burner phone in his spare apartment. He also rebooted the device every time he used it.

“Yeah.” Wally grinned again. “The power of phones. Makes it real easy to talk to people around the globe, y’know?” Dick wouldn’t know. “I have this friend in Japan. Now normally, in olden times, I’d have to wait weeks for a letter to get through but because we live in the modern age, I can text or call her whenever I’d like. It blows my mind. I mean, I haven’t gotten back to her in a few weeks, but the power of phones? Unbelievable.”

Communication technology had been steadily rising around the globe for decades. Dick knew that. Had memorised all of the statistics. And yet Wally saying this out loud made Dick feel like he’d just found out all over again. “Yeah,” he said. “I—” He hesitated before diving in. “I work a lot with technology at my workplace. Some of the things people come up with is—” Dick licked his lips and shook his head. “It’s unbelievable.”

Wally’s eyes shone at his words being repeated back to him. “Unbelievable.”

Dick felt weirdly warm. Talons didn’t like the cold but this was more than thermals fighting the bitter Gotham cold. “I should get going,” Dick said. “My—I can’t be late.”

“For work tomorrow?” Wally asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said. “Work.”

Wally’s lips twisted. “Same. Yep, same. But you’ll text me? Or you don’t have to, but I think I was feeling a bit of a vibe…” He trailed off. Was he looking for Dick to respond?

Did Dick have a response? He didn’t know how to feel a vibe. His Talon senses were making him tingly at the thought of the Bat discovering he’d been out. Snuck out. Went out. But Wally didn’t know any of that. No one did.

Could Dick leave the compound again?

This was his first time actually interacting with a human aside from a few bartenders and the occasional drunk jerk. Dick normally spread out his outings across weeks at a time. Never had he gone out twice in the same week. But he’d never had a reason before.

Was this a good enough reason?

Wally looked uncertain now. “Unless you don’t want to text me?”

Was this how normal people met others? Just by talking and laughing? Did it count if Dick didn’t know how to talk or laugh or smile without his Talon reflexes copying the movements of the people around him?

Did he want to call Wally back?

Wants were hard. Dick wasn’t allowed wants. The last time he ever remembered being given something he wanted was from one of the few memories he’d salvaged from the broken recess of his mind, back when Dick was a circus kid named Dick Grayson and not Talon. Back when Dick Grayson was real. Dick had been seven and he’d wanted a plush toy from a store they had visited while the circus had stopped in Geneva. If he’d processed the memory right, it had been an elephant.

The Court of Owls trained Di—Talon—to be a weapon. Talons did not want. They required, they needed, but they never wanted. Wants were not with the program.

The Bat had ruined that program but he had put in one of his own; a different sort of program, not embedded but trained, not ingrained but learned. And Dick had learned not to want.

But Dick had also learned never to leave and yet, there he was, standing in the middle of Gotham in blue contacts and stolen clothes with a guy who made him want to know how to laugh.

Stephanie had wanted. She had wanted so badly.

I wanted a life worth living.

Stephanie’s words rang in Dick’s head but hers weren’t the only ones.

Please. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.

Dick wanted to grab his head until his watch fell off and his claws drew blood. Dick wanted to throw himself into the walls until the old brick broke and scream until his lungs could breathe past the pain. Dick wanted. Oh, how Dick wanted. He had never let himself want.

Dick wanted this now.

“I’ll call you,” Dick said. “I promise.”

--

Dick didn’t end up going back to his apartment right away. He made it all the way back to his small apartment before the news broke that the Bat’s event had a bomb threat. The Claws were on their way and the entire event was shut down—and would be for hours. Dick had time.

He briefly considered calling Wally but when he turned away from his window to grab his phone sitting dejectedly on the kitchen counter, something had caused him to pause and stop. So Dick had instead run back into Gotham, climbing the fire escapes, and leaping over smoke-pumping chimneys until he reached the old Queen building. And there Dick stood, at the rooftop edge, leaning on the gothic stone balcony, his eyes adjusting to the Gotham lights. It had been an office, nothing more, but was since abandoned after Bruce Wayne ran Queen Industries out of town. The Bat had never cared for the building and let it rot there instead.

Dick liked it because it came up halfway on all the other buildings and then just stopped. It didn’t try to go any further, didn’t reach for the height other skyscrapers and glass windowed buildings did. It remained solitary. It was trapped in time. It reminded Dick of his child self, and how trapped he had felt until the Bat fixed his ageing.

Dick hadn’t remembered that until the incident with Stephanie.

And hours with Wally was bringing something new to the surface.

He was remembering a lot of things.

Talons didn’t like memory. Memories got in the way of a Talons work.

And Dick wasn’t a Talon anymore but that mindset—that way of thinking—still crowded his brain far too often. It poked and prodded at him when he was in uniform, when that mask kept his words tight to his lips. He fell into it again and again constantly, without meaning to. No feeling, just thinking.

He hadn’t felt for a long time.

But this—this thing with Stephanie Brown was making Dick feel. It made him hurt.

All of his siblings made him feel. Dick had been so alone, so Talon for so long. Eighteen years of being Talon. Jason was the next oldest, and he was still five years younger than Dick. Dick hadn’t met Jason until Dick was twenty and Jason was fifteen. In the beginning, things had just gotten worse.

The Bat knew. Oh, he knew something in Dick had taken to the children he kept bringing for Dick to train, to look after. Jason wouldn’t remember, but Dick remembered the first time Jason had gotten hurt in the field. The Bat had cradled Jason’s jaw, for a moment he had looked loving, then he had raised his knife to Jason’s throat.

Dick had gone cold.

“Do better,” the Bat had said simply.

And then he left, his cape billowing behind him. Dick had caught Jason’s body before his head hit the ground. He had held his brother’s body close to his chest until he felt Jason’s heartbeat beating steady.

That was one of the very few times Dick remembered being completely and utterly terrified.

It was one of the only times his Talon mindset broke and Dick thought, I will make sure they never let him down again.

Dick hadn’t remembered thinking that until he saw Stephanie again and it came back to him.

He hadn’t remembered a lot of things.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t it past your bedtime, little bird?”

Dick spun on instinct, freezing when he saw the women standing not five metres away from the rooftop edge. Dressed in a thin print gown and a thick fur-lined coat, the woman raised a thin brow at Dick’s refusal to give anything away, to voice how unnerved he was at not having heard her approach. “Cat got your tongue?” she asked, with a sly smile on her lips, as if she knew the Bat’s name for her on file was Cat.

She probably did. Selina Kyle was many things but she was not a fool.

Dick wouldn’t take any chances. “I could arrest you.”

“You could,” Selina admitted. Her heavily lined eyes looked him up and down, like there was something to be found in all the ways Dick held himself. “But then you’d have to explain your little outing to Daddy. I don’t think he’d appreciate knowing his prized bird was out and about this late at night. And with no supervision, no less.”

No easy exits. Dick could leap from the edge and survive the landing. His Talon alterations made sure of it. He had no weapons either, other than his claws if he could slip his watch off his wrist.

Dick remembered feeling Selina’s eyes on him in her pub and his lungs tightened. “Why are you here?” he signed. There was no use in pretending he wasn’t Talon.

The amusement, bright in Selina’s eyes, faded into something darker, more serious. “Why are you?”

Dick didn’t answer.

Selina, with her hands shoved in her coat pockets, walked up to the railing and stared out over the streets of Gotham. They were glamorous despite their grime, warm to hide the filth that tainted the stone. The bright colours washed Selina’s face in orange and yellow. “I saw you with that boy, you know.”

Dick went very still.

“You ought to be more careful,” Selina continued, like her words hadn’t struck resounding cracks in the glass of Dick’s mind. “I don’t think your father would like the idea of you running around Gotham… unsupervised… and with a foreigner no less. How ever did the two of you meet?”

“He’s not my father,” Dick ground.

“That is what you take away from my words?” Selina’s eyebrow shot up.

“He isn’t”, Dick signed.

“Alright, alright.” Selina’s dark eyes stayed attached to Dick. “I do mean it, you know. Bruce’s temper is not to be discounted.”

Dick flinched. “You know his name?”

“Of course,” Selina said, sounding offended. “We dated once. I thought I could change him and he thought he could convert me.” Her lips tightened. “I’ve never been the type of girl who could go quietly. Why else do you think he’s continued to hound me, even after all these years?”

“Your illegal practices,” Dick pointed out.

Selina waved a hand, her long plum nails pointed. They reminded Dick of his own claws. “The Claws have never been able to prove a single thing. My pub and my other businesses remain clean. That’s not my point. My point is, should you ever require a space set aside from all of Gotham’s wondrous horrors, I have a few private rooms in the Lucky Cat I rent out to customers looking to be discreet.” She inclined her head. “I came to offer you one.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed, even as his heartbeat sped up. “Me? Why?”

Selina looked out over Gotham again, the wind ruffling through her short locks. “Gotham isn’t small,” she said at last, “but news does travel. I’ve heard of a particular girl, one Stephanie Brown. I assume she is your doing?”

Stephanie Brown—

“Stephanie Brown failed the Bat,” Dick said on instinct. “She is a failure.”

“She is a survivor,” Selina corrected.

“She failed the program.”

“She survived you.” Selina looked at him again with a small smile. “No mean feat.”

Dick quieted.

Selina sighed onto the streets. “Sometimes I forget the damage Bruce has done to you children. Irreparable, really. But perhaps not always.” She pulled away from the railing, ringed fingers drawing her coat closer around her midriff. “My offer is take it or leave it. I have many other customers who would love a room to themselves. Particularly one under my roof.”

“You never answered my question,” Dick signed. “Why?”

“Didn’t I?” Selina laughed and then she was gone, striding back into the shadows and vanishing without a trace.

She hadn’t waited for his answer, Dick thought, and then he looked down at his phone and jolted. His screen was awake, signed in, and a new number was entered into his contacts, under the name CAT.

A single message had already been shared.

CAT: Lmk

Dick put his phone away and resumed breathing in the night of Gotham.

---

The voices rose in volume.

“What do you mean he isn’t around?” A low voice.

“I mean, I can’t find him.”

A higher one: “What do you mean you can’t find him? You have access to every security camera, every satellite—”

“And I can’t find him. I don’t know how else to phrase that!”

“Bullshit!”

“Jackson!”

“He needs to be here! He should have been here hours ago! I need you to find him—”

“Or what?”

“Babs—”

“No, Courtney. Or what, Jackson? I am trying my best here. I am just as stressed about Wally as the two of you are, and, unlike you, I have been coordinating multiple emergency rescue and evacuation operations for hours. If I’m going to be honest, finding Wally right now is the last of my priorities because I know he can handle whatever shit he’s gotten himself into, unlike the thousands of people still buried under rubble.”

“Raven just came out of surgery. Wally should be here!”

“Either calm the fuck down or I will temporarily restrict you from League servers. Both of you.”

“He should be here, Barbara.”

“It’s Oracle. And he should be. But right now, he is not a priority, do you understand me?”

Silence.

“I need audio confirmation from the both of you.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Jackson?”

A frustrated huff. A familiar one. “Fuck. Fine. But finding him—”

“One of you can stay with Raven as an emergency contact but I need the other to head back out. There are multiple evacuations still underway and I have two Rogues still at large.”

“I’ll go. You can stay here and wait until Raven wakes up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jackson… you’re clearly compromised.”

“Right. Fine. Get out there.”

“Oracle?”

“Head north and rendezvous with Superman at the police station to subdue Golden Glider.”

“On it.”

“Oracle out.”

“Hey. Jackson. She’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know them.”

Something slipped into Raven’s hand, something warm and heavy, and squeezed her fingers. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

Raven opened her eyes and winced at the bright hospital lights. She squinted until Jackson’s blurry shape sharpened even as it sent spikes of pain into her head. She was sure she could feel her entire body aching which was a good sign… it meant her entire body was alive. “Barely,” she managed to rasp, her mouth thick. “What happened?”

“Fucking Rogues bombed the city,” Jackson said, then rolled his eyes. “Gorilla Grodd bombed the city and the Rogues took advantage. Oracle discovered they were looking for Iris, who hasn’t left her house in three weeks, so they were trying to flush her out. Bombing her was fucking stupid then.”

“Hey.” Raven stretched her fingers as much as she could until Jackson got the hint and took her hand. Jackson only cursed when he was hella stressed out. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You almost died,” Jackson said, his eyes burning. “You almost died, Raven. And when the surgeons tried to operate on you, magic kept them back. I had to bring in Khalid from Afghanistan to help explain to Trigon that the surgeons were trying to help you. Apparently Wally convinced him to keep you alive.”

For fuck’s sake. Was that why Raven’s forehead burned?

“Where is Wally?” Raven mumbled.

Jackson sighed and glanced away. “Gone again. Shit. I don’t know where the fuck he went. The nurses said he dropped you off and left. Oracle and Superman confirmed he was rescuing Iris but Oracle can’t find him anymore and Superman has the most shittiest of attitudes when he’s pissed, and—”

Raven squeezed his hand.

Jackson faltered and looked at her again. He cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to be the leader of the Justice League,” he said at last. “But I can’t even—I can’t even think about leaving you behind when you just came out of surgery. Christ, I can’t even think about Central City because I keep getting worried about Wally.”

“I might be the one in the hospital bed,” Raven said. “But you’re the one being hard on yourself. Jackson,” Raven shifted to sit up more, “you’ve been evacuating Toronto for days. You came from one emergency to try to fix this one. Not even—not even Clark would have been able to stay focused.”

“Clark handled everything perfectly,” Jackson countered, his shoulders shaking.

“Clark was on constant anxiety meds, did you know that?” Raven said. “Yes, Superman was taking anxiety meds. And prescription pills to help him sleep. And drinking caffeine when he thought no one was looking. He gave the world his best but it cost him a lot. He never—” She looked down. “He never had what we had. A home. Roommates. Family.”

Jackson said, “I can’t do half of what he did.”

“He chose you to lead us,” Raven said. “The broken and the hopeful. The people who stare at the stars and wish for a better, changed world. Even though he was an alien, Clark understood the power of humanity.”

Jackson cradled Raven’s hand. She thought he understood. Maybe not now, but deep down he did. “Would Wally have listened to Clark? Would he have slowed down for him?”

Raven sighed and laid back against her pillow, her head throbbing. “Wally would slow down for no one,” she said. “Only for himself. And that’s not our decision to make.”

--

Wally left Dick feeling on top of the world. Well, as on top of the world as the brief exhilaration and adrenaline rush of meeting someone who gave you fucking butterflies could give you… because the moment he was three blocks away from where he had left Dick on foot, after promising not to get mugged or killed, he remembered Central City. He remembered the way he had left things with his roommates, distant and unforgiving. And he remembered how pale Raven had looked when he found her in a pile of rubble, bloody and unconscious.

And oh, did that good feeling crumple into a pile of dust.

“Shit,” Wally breathed, wiping his face with his hand. “Shit. Motherfucking shit.”

Wally didn’t like cursing but those were the only words that felt appropriate.

And it wasn’t like Wally hadn’t thought about it at all. His—his decision to go to Gotham had made that quite clear. But now that Wally wasn’t distracted, he was really thinking about it.

Wally thought he might break.

He wanted to run.

Wally’s hands clenched and unclenched, nails digging red crescents.

He wanted his laptop; mindlessly watching Netflix felt like a great idea right then.

Wally’s knees buckled.

He wanted to breathe.

Wally pulled on the collar of his shirt, wrenching it downwards as he gasped for air.
His mind was haywire. His brain was going crazy. He couldn’t think, not with all the noise. He could barely see as he kept stumbling down the street, following the directions Google was giving him in his earbuds. All of his thoughts were going in circles, on repeat, like a train at the station.

Fucking hell.

Wally wanted to run.

He didn’t see the fist coming towards him until a set of knuckles were rearing towards his face. Wally’s eyes widened. The world instantly froze. Wally did not; he panted and gaped and wrestled to breathe, brain like static, as he stared at the man frozen mid-charging towards him with his fist raised.

Holy shit. Was he actually about to be mugged?

Wally’s whole body was shaking but not from fear. He needed to get some of this energy out. He needed to run.

Touching the ground with his fingers, Wally closed his eyes and exhaled. A surge of lightning that started in the very active recess of his brain travelled from his fingers into the ground. Instantly, the entire street went dark. Wally loved this trick. It wouldn’t last forever. Lightning was brief, short. But all cameras, sensors, and satellites were knocked out for the moment. And all Wally needed was a moment.

Flexing his fists, Wally swung back at the man just as he let go of his hold on time.

The man slammed into the wall hard enough to crack brick.

Wally drove his fist into the wall, burning a hole with his lightning. Oh, using his speed felt good.

“Don’t come at me again,” Wally growled.

“How did you do that?” the man whimpered. “What are you, some kind of freak?”

I’m the Flash, bitch.

“Speed enhancers,” Wally answered darkly. “Bat-approved. Now get the hell out of here before I break more than this wall.”

The man broke away from the wall, but didn’t start running until Wally let lightning crackle around him; the guy took off sprinting. Wally tossed his head back and laughed shortly. Speed felt so good sometimes.

--

Dick watched the Birds train and tried not to think about the night before.

His skin prickled under the weight of his own awareness; there were at least thirty different cameras surrounding the training room, watching, calculating, and shelving every little mistake the Birds made. In their forms. In their stances. In their behaviour.

Damian and Cass had returned.

Dick only saw their uniforms in the morning, when he slipped back into his own quarters. Cass’s was pristine as always but Damian’s was shredded, like he’d been chased.

If there were red angry cuts under his blacks, Damian showed no sign of injury as he whirled furiously around Tim, who was being forced into a corner, using his bo staff to block Damian’s flurry of attacks.

Cass and Jason’s sparring was a lot slower but Dick noted the way Cass’s reaction times were slower. Jason had different techniques under his belt. Sometimes he threw in a new move to throw her off guard.

If Dick caught them, so did the Bat.

Dick whistled and like clockwork, the Birds all rotated opponents.

Now Cass and Tim faced off as Damian lunged towards Jason.

Every five minutes, they rotated.

When the first Bird finally hit the sands, the bars surrounding the doors lifted. Dick jumped down from the jumping box he’d made a perch. The other Birds backed off—Jason, Cass, and Damian, exited the arena.

Tim’s face tightened as he got to his feet.

“Watch,” Dick signed to the others, who nodded. Dick removed his escrima sticks and flipped on the electricity.

Tim held his staff out protectively.

Dick counted to three under his breath before Tim thrusted at him. Dick caught Tim’s staff with his sticks and drove it into the ground, kicking Tim in the chest. Tim stumbled back. He batted Dick’s sticks, delivering a firm jab to Dick’s sternum. In turn, Dick swept Tim off his feet.

Tim hit the sand. Again.

Dick saw the tremble in his fists.

“Again,” Dick signed.

Tim’s jaw twitched and grabbed Dick’s leg, flipping him onto his back. Dick twisted upwards, flipping backwards but he lost his sticks in the process.

Tim twirled them, the lightning spinning bright blue, and held them up.

Behind Tim, the cameras recording light flashed. Morse code.

S. H. O. W. N. O. M. E. R. C. Y.

Dick’s teeth grit. He sped at Tim, who raised his sticks to block an attack to the face, but Dick twisted instead, barrelling into Tim’s legs. Tim went down, and Dick pinned him to the sand, his claws grazing Tim’s throat.

One tremble and Tim would bleed.

“I yield,” Tim rasped.

Dick got off of him.

Tim rubbed his throat, his face red.

Dick knew what the Bat would say to him later: weak, too slow, too trusting of his own abilities. The stares of the other Birds felt oppressive.

Dick looked at them. “Shower,” he said. “Briefing room in fifteen minutes.”

“You should have slit my throat.”

Dick glanced downwards. “Should I have?” He signed.

Tim got to his feet, his expression dark. “He told you to have no mercy.”

“I could have killed you,” Dick signed. “I still can if you don’t fix your attitude.”

“You’re not our brother, Talon,” Tim spat, walking away. “Stop acting like you are.”

The cameras swivelled in the corner of Dick’s vision.

Always watching.

--

Wally texted Dick and got no reply. He wasn’t sure if he was expecting one—they only had just met after all. But though Wally had often longed for and fantasised about a world where he didn’t have to rush off to the nearest disaster, it was actually pretty boring. Wally couldn’t really leave his hotel without feeling threatened.

He tried going out for breakfast and instantly, the moment he stepped out onto the street, every hair on his body went static; room service had been his every meal since.

Wally tried not to use his phone unless he thought Barbara was asleep. But who knows, honestly. She had a weird sleep schedule, which was the lack of one.

Still, Wally’s stomach dropped when he read the message his phone received when he’d been brushing his teeth.

I CAN’T FIND YOU BUT SO HELP ME WEST, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH FUCKING TROUBLE.

Suddenly, Gotham wasn’t safe either.

--

Dick got orders to search Selina Kyle’s apartment. Putting on his Talon mask felt like anchoring an iron ball to his ankle. Suffocating.

Fifteen Claws accompanied him.

Dick gave them short orders. They obeyed without question.

“He’s gone, you know,” Selina said casually, studying her nails, as the Claws stripped every bedsheet, book, and curtain from its place.

Dick pretended not to hear her.

--

“So,” Roy said. “Do you want to talk about it or are we completely ignoring the elephant in the room?”
There actually was an elephant in the room: Lian’s favourite stuffed toy, sitting innocently on the floor where Lian had dropped it.

Wally handed Roy his plate for Roy to slot in the dishwasher. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roy raised an eyebrow and huffed a little. “Wally. I spend every night with a four year old. You can’t lie to me.”

“What even is there to talk about?” Wally tried, leaning back in his seat in an effort to look cool and act casual. From the way Roy snorted, he had failed horribly.

Roy leaned back against his kitchen counter with his arms folded, ratty hair tucked under his baseball cap. “Why don’t we start with why you showed up at my place demanding a meal?”

Roy’s place had been the first place Wally thought to go. He hadn’t even thought about it, really. He had just started running and before he knew it, he was crossing into Star City’s city limits and Roy’s old brownstone was in sight. It was instinct.

Wally didn’t know why he was at Roy’s, other than that it was simply where he needed to be.

It’s where he could be.

Wally had known Roy Harper since they were fourteen and sixteen respectively. Roy was Ollie’s protege back then, scrawny and nimble, with a loud mouth as foul as Wally’s trainors after a good run. Wally had thought he was amazing. Roy initially thought he was a dipshit. Wally hadn’t understood back then, but Barry had reasons for always partnering up with Green Arrow and Speedy. It wasn’t just because he found solace in Ollie’s witty quips and easygoing lifestyle. Barry had wanted Wally to find a friend.

Barry wasn’t always around for Wally’s life but Wally didn’t doubt Barry had seen loneliness that seeped into the walls from the empty yearbooks and the closed blinds. Being a kid wasn’t easy. Being a kid who loved science and read manga and never had time for after school clubs wasn’t great either. He hadn’t set out to be Kid Flash but he was a natural. Even Clark had joked that Barry’s sidekick was making leaps and bounds the first time they’d met.

Wally would never forget that day.

Roy was older though, in a way that had felt foreign. He had friends his own age to hang out with, his own rules to play by, and a later bedtime than Wally.

Wally had been a kid to him. Literally.

That changed when Roy’s health dipped.

---

Sometimes Wally stayed over at his uncle’s house when their patrols ran too late or his Uncle Barry decided Wally should spend the night healing without having to lie to his parents about a track meet gone wrong. Wally had his own room, filled with his Kid Flash things: lots of extra shoes, red paint to cover up any scratches on his kevlar, posters of the Flash his parents wouldn’t allow to be pinned in his room, and lots of video cameras filled with footage the press would slaughter to get their hands on.

Wally loved staying over at his aunt and uncle’s place.

But sometimes that meant he was privy to things he shouldn’t have been.

“What do you mean, this situation is ‘too adult’?” Wally demanded. “What’s happening?”

Barry pushed Wally away but Wally wouldn’t budge. They’d just gotten indoors from a late patrol when Barry’s phone had rang. He’d picked it up with his usual jovial mood before his face had dropped. Like literal lightning, Barry had gone white. And he wasn’t telling Wally anything. Wally hated it.

Barry’s expression grew more desperate as he clutched his phone to his ear, keeping his voice low on purpose so that Wally couldn’t hear. Sometimes Wally really wished he had super hearing instead of super speed. Then he forgot that thought because super speed was awesome.

“Wally—go to bed,” Barry insisted, yanking his coat from the coat rack and tripping over his own shoes. “Shit. Ollie, I’m on my way. I’m coming.”

Ollie?

“Is Ollie hurt?” Wally cried. He knew there were risks to this business but, call it luck or fate, no one had actually died since Wally donned his suit. What if Oliver had died?

“Ollie’s fine,” Barry dismissed, cursing as he failed to tie his laces, so distracted, torn between two conversations. “No. What? Ollie—Wally’s still here. I’m trying to—I’m on my way, I swear.” Barry pulled away from his phone so he could yell, “Iris? Iris?”

Wally’s blood went cold.

Iris’s footsteps thudded down the stairs and then she was turning the corner and stumbling into the front foyer, a cardigan wrapped around her body. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Ollie—put Wally to bed,” Barry said. “I’ll be back.”

Iris must have seen something Wally couldn’t because she wrapped her arms around Wally and nodded.

Barry smiled faintly and kissed Iris on the cheek. His eyes were shadowed.

Then he looked down at Wally and his face fell.

Wally hadn’t realised he was crying out of sheer fear until Barry wiped a tear away from under his left eye with his thumb. Barry swallowed. “I’m sorry, kid. I can’t—there're some things I can’t tell you.”

“Is Oliver dead?” Wally said.

Barry looked sad all of a sudden. “No, kid. But I think he wishes he was, right now.”

Wally didn’t understand. He didn’t know what that meant.

Barry kissed his forehead, and then he was gone with a trail of yellow lightning, leaving the front door swinging. Iris was the first one to move: she pressed the door closed with a shaky exhale and then turned to Wally with a big smile. Wally was sixteen and he knew when a smile was fake.

“How about you and me watch a movie?” Iris said.

Wally tried not to sob. “What’s going on?”

Iris’s smile wobbled. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Not if Oliver was dead. Oh god, what would happen to Roy?

Iris steered Wally into their living room, sat him down on the couch, and bundled him with blankets. She rubbed his shoulder until Wally felt the wall holding back his fears splinter before it cracked and it all came spiralling out. Iris just held him, rubbing his back, whispering words into his ear Wally’s hearing never retained, and the night went on.

--

Three hours later, Barry returned, visibly shaken. He didn’t speak to anyone, just fumbled around the entryway like his whole world had fallen away. Wally could tell right away he hadn’t noticed Iris and Wally watching him from down the hall.
Wally’s stomach felt like an anchor had been dropped. What had happened?

Iris didn’t hesitate to get up and comfort her husband. The moment Barry rested his eyes on her, what little composure he had left fell away. He sunk into her arms, holding on tight while she stroked his head.

Wally felt like an intruder on a whole other planet.

Had Oliver…

No.

No, Barry would have said something if Oliver was dead. If Green Arrow was gone.

So then, what? What had happened?

“Upstairs?” He heard Iris murmur.

Barry only shook his head minutely. Iris smiled gently before she led her husband up the stairs, their footsteps creaking and groaning through the entire house. Wally only waited a moment before he scampered after them, his heart racing, his limbs uncomfortably hot from the stress. And from sinking under fluffy blankets for three whole hours.

The stairwell was illuminated.

Wally could still hear their voices from beneath the railing, so he crouched in the dim dark, and waited, his breathing shakily uneven.

Barry sounded like a mess. “You should have seen them, Iris. I’ve never seen Ollie so… and Dinah.”

“Barry, what happened?” Iris asked.

Wally peered through the wooden bars and up until his eyes reached his aunt and uncle, holding each other tight at the top of the stairs; Barry’s arms clutching Iris’s waist like he didn’t want to let her go, and Iris holding Barry’s face in her hands like if her grip slipped, he would be so far away, she would never see him again.

They fit together. Superhero and reporter.

Barry’s voice was raw, hoarse when he spoke next. “Roy is in the hospital.”

Wally froze. Roy?

“What?” Iris’s shocked gasp broke Wally’s brief paranoia. “Why?”

“He… Iris, he overdosed,” Barry croaked.

If Wally had thought Iri’s previous gasp was heartbroken, this next one beat the first one by a longshot. “Oh my god,” Iris whispered. “Ollie… Dinah…”

Barry gasped for air, nodding continuously. Even from the floor underneath, Wally could hear the speed force begin to enter Barry’s limbs through sheer anxiety. “Ollie had to be sedated in the waiting room. He—I thought he would tear the walls down to check on Roy.” His son, Wally thought. “Hal and I tried to be there for him, but we couldn’t reach him. Not even Dinah could… god. She was so silent. I’ve never seen Dinah so quiet.”

“Is he alright?” Iris demanded. “Was the dose fatal?”

Barry shook his head, and Wally could only feel relieved. “No. But the doctors said they won’t know the consequences this’ll have on his body until he wakes up. Ollie and Dinah are staying overnight with him.”

“He’s okay, honey,” Iris said gently. “Roy’ll be alright.”

Barry shook his head again. If Wally really focused, he saw the tears sparkling in his uncle’s eyes. “I just thought of Wally. The entire time. Because—Iris—our kids should be the last to suffer from this. They should be protected from this darkness. What does it say about us, about the work we do, if we can’t protect them?”

“Wally is a good kid,” Iris said.

Barry said, “That’s what Oliver thought about Roy.”

Wally’s breathing hitched.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Barry rubbed his face. “It’s been a long day.”

“You need rest,” Iris agreed.

“Yeah,” Barry murmured. “Where’s Wally? Is he asleep?”

Wally darted back to the couch and tried to wrap himself in as many blankets as he possibly could, his heartbeat recovered and racing.

--

Wally emerged the next morning from his room with a stone in his throat. He didn’t know what to think of the morning’s previous events, only that he definitely wasn’t supposed to have heard much of that conversation.

And Roy… god.

Central City was crime ridden—no doubt about it—but it was Barry who managed suicide and drug rings, and only if the police weren’t there fast enough. Wally handled petty crime and the occasional bank robbery. He wasn’t—he wasn’t in tune with these sorts of issues. Wally had never met someone with a drug addiction.

He knew Roy now.

Iris noticed Wally entering the kitchen first, from the fridge, as she pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Oh, Wally. Good, you’re awake. How did you sleep?”

I tossed and turned all night long because my uncle is worried I’ll become a junkie, Wally wanted to cry.

In true teenage fashion, he just shrugged and slouched into a chair. “Fine.”

He didn’t miss the way his aunt and uncle exchanged a worried look. Were they always going to be worried about him? Wally was Kid Flash for goodness’ sake! He’d fought Captain Cold all on his own. Once. And only because Barry was taking on the rest of the Rogues simultaneously but it still counted as a win!

“Say, Wally.” Barry cleared his throat, undoing his apron and handing it over to Iris for her to resume cooking the bacon. Barry sat down beside Wally, his knee jiggling. “How much did you hear from last night?”

Wally considered lying. “All of it,” he admitted instead.

Barry’s eyes briefly squeezed closed. “All of it. Okay.” He cleared his throat again. “So you know that Oliver and Dinah are going through a pretty rough time right now?”

Wally nodded.

“Right. I’m heading up after lunch to help them out and I was wondering if you’d consider coming with me.”

Wally’s eyes widened. “Me? Really?”

Barry smiled faintly but it faded as he looked down at his hands, tightly clenched on the table. “We live hard lives, kid,” he said. “I wish I could say I lied about what I said last night. But I didn’t. Because, the reality is, even good people can fall down the wrong path. I can’t control your fate, as much as I wish I could. I just have to trust you.” Barry looked to Iris, who was looking back over her shoulder with a smile. “And I do.” Barry looked back at Wally with an optimistic grin. “So, what do you say? We’ll go to Star City for the weekend, I’ll send an email to your school, and we’ll give Ollie and Dinah the help they need whilst Roy recovers. Sounds good?”

Wally was instantly in but before he could answer, his logical brain kicked in. “What about our city?”

Barry winked at him. “Jay is coming out of retirement to lend us a hand. I bet he could give Cold and his Rogues a good kick in the teeth, even with his hip issues.”

Wally laughed.

Iris smiled brightly from the stove.

And Barry’s expression was all the warmth Wally could ever need.

--

Hospitals, to Wally, smelled like death. There wasn’t an aroma of dead bodies, but it was the sick feeling of anticipation, the sticky smell of medcaine sloshing in various vials, the drawn out looks from people in white who worked there from midnight to midnight. It was the knowing of what happened behind closed doors that made Wally shrink in his hoodie and walk a little closer to his uncle as they headed to the waiting room.

They pushed through the last set of doors and Wally saw them.

Oliver Queen looked like a mess. His golden hair was awfully dishevelled and he was wearing sweatpants—something Wally hadn’t thought Oliver ever owned. Hal sat next to Oliver, with his arm wrapped around his best friend. Hal saw them first, and gave Barry and Wally a quick nod.

Dinah sat on Oliver’s other side, gripping his hand with a death grip of her own. She looked paler than Wally had ever seen her—like her voice had been spent, not through her vocal cry, but through reassuring Oliver over and over that their child would be okay.

“Hey, guys,” Barry said. “How’s he doing?”

“His breathing is better,” Dinah replied with red eyes. “Um. But they’re still waiting to give us an estimate of when he’ll wake up.”

“Okay. Do you need anything from the house? I can go pick stuff up,” Barry offered.

“Uh.” Dinah looked at Oliver who had yet to look up. “Clothes. Fresh clothes would be good. Roy’s pyjamas. The key to his dorm room is hanging at the front.”

Barry squeezed Dinah’s shoulder. She smiled appreciatively.

“How are you doing, kid?” Hal asked Wally.

Wally shrugged. “Fine.” His eyes wandered back to Oliver. “Is Ollie going to be okay?”

Hal spared his friend a brief glance, his eyes saddening. “Yeah. He’ll be fine, kid.”

“What about the city?” Wally asked.

“Mia and Connor are handling it,” Dinah answered with a faint pained expression. “I guess they would have had to test run protecting the city at some time.”

Dinah must be really worried about Roy and Oliver, Wally thought to himself, to let Mia and Connor patrol on their own, to give up the streets for a few brief nights.

After all, Mia was only fourteen and Connor fifteen.

Wally couldn’t imagine protecting all of Central City at any age.

“I’ll be back soon,” Barry promised. He looked at Wally. “Stay or go, kid? It’s up to you.”

Wally did not want to stay.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Barry clapped his shoulder and then they were off.

--

When Barry and Wally returned, Mia and Connor were standing, waiting in the waiting room in tense places. Dinah, Ollie, and Hal, were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” Barry asked, dropping the duffle bag of the Queens’ stuff onto a seat.

“The doctors called Dad and Dinah inside,” Connor answered. He had his arms crossed over his chest tightly, like if he breathed his world would come down tumbling. Wally noticed Connor was still wearing his Sparrow leather boots. “Hal traded places with us so we could be here. They only let the parents in.”

“Which is stupid,” Mia argued, her face puffy and red. “We’re family too. I’m technically Roy’s uncle. We should be allowed inside.”

Wally always forgot Mia was Oliver’s baby sister, seeing as they all treated her like his daughter instead.

“It could have been sensitive information,” Barry said. “The best place for you two to be is right here.”

Mia huffed and continued to pace angrily. Connor just nodded at Wally who nodded back.

He wasn’t close to Sparrow or Speedy. They’d worked together before but didn’t really have a lot in common. Mia was a cheerleader which Wally found terrifying; she was a bundle of energy. Connor was more quiet. The details around how he joined the family were still kept under wraps so Wally knew even less about him than Mia.

What he did know, though, was that they adored Roy, their big brother.

“We brought chips,” Wally offered, holding up his duffle bag.

“Ruffles?” Mia asked.

“Lays,” Wally said.

Mia made a face. “I’m good.”

“I’ll take any Honey Mustard chips,” Connor said. Wally tossed him one and then pretended not to notice Connor opening the bag with a broken arrow from his hoodie pocket.

Newbies.

Mia scoffed when she saw Connor munching on his chips. “How can you eat at a time like this?” she demanded. “My nephew is in the hospital!”

“It always feels weird when you say that,” Connor said with disdain.

Mia mimed smacking him in the head.

Wally almost smiled.

“I can’t believe Roy would do this,” Connor murmured. “He always seemed so… okay.”

“No one is ever fine,” Wally said.

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” Mia said. “He should have known better.” She lowered her head. “I just hope he’s okay.”

Wally wanted to hug her. He didn’t.

“Everything’s going to be alright, kids,” Barry said, stepping into the conversation with a small smile. “Roy is going to get better. Your parents, me, and Hal are going to be here for him the entire way.”

“What if he doesn’t want to get better?” Connor said.

Barry wrapped his arm around Connor. “He will,” he said. “Your big brother loves you. It might take time, but he wouldn’t want to ever hurt you. That’s what’s important.”

Mia opened her mouth to say something but her eyes widened at the last second.

Wally followed her gaze.

Dinah stood at the waiting room doors with tears in her eyes. But she was smiling. And that made Wally’s heart soar. “He’s going to be okay.”

--

Looking back, Wally couldn’t wrap his head around how present his uncle had been in the depth of other peoples’ lives. Barry Allen must have been exhausted, constantly offering a smile or lifting people up. But Wally never saw his uncle complain; he rarely saw a crack in the armour Barry seemed to wear all the time.

Barry Allen had been a true hero.

And Wally didn’t know how he did it.

--

Wally’s throat was dry. He wasn’t sure what to say when he opened Roy’s door, so he’d been standing at the entrance with his hand wrapped around the silver door knob like an idiot. Every passing nurse was probably wondering if they should check on him. Wally wouldn’t blame them.

Barry had been right. In the two weeks since Roy’s overdose, the tensions between the Queen family had only grown higher. Roy was being stubborn, or so Wally had heard. He was angry; more at himself than others, Iris theorised, but that didn’t stop the pain Oliver and Dinah felt at seeing their son push them away.

Roy was healthier but he was refusing to go to rehab.

The last time Wally saw Oliver, the older man was fist deep in a broken wall.

A nurse heading into the next room paused to give Wally a look. “Are you alright, sweetie?”

“Fine,” Wally croaked. “Just scared.”

“Are you friends?” the nurse asked.

“More of family friends,” Wally said.

The nurse smiled. “Well, I bet your friend would love to see you either way.”

Wally cleared his throat and nodded. “Mmhmm.”

The nurse’s smile widened and then he left.

Wally looked down at his quivering hand, jittery with unbound thoughts, gathered his courage, and opened the door.

The TV was on, the window curtains drawn, and Roy was awake with his feet propped up on the bed’s end. Roy startled a bit when Wally came in, his teeth gritting like he was expecting a conflict, but his quick anger faded to mild surprise and then genuine confusion when he took Wally in.

Wally wondered if he looked the same way.

“Wally?” Roy said, like he needed to check, to say it out loud to make it real.

“Hi,” Wally said back, stuffing his hands in his jeans’ pockets. His eyes flickered towards the TV. “Are you watching Danny Phantom?”

“Yeah,” Roy said, with his brows still tightly knit. “It’s, uh, a comfort show. What are you doing here?”

Wally toed the hospital tiles with his burnt converse. “My uncle said—” Wally paused, closed his eyes, and corrected himself. “I thought you’d like seeing a friendly face. Or a face that isn’t family? If you’d like me to go, I can.”

Roy glanced at the door. “No. I mean, I didn’t expect you to show up, but it’s cool. You can stay.”

“Cool,” Wally echoed. His knee bobbled. “What season are you on?”

“Huh?”

“Of Danny Phantom,” Wally clarified, his cheeks burning.

“Oh. Season one,” Roy said. “Not the internet’s favourite but it’s a classic, no doubt about it. You ever watch it?”

Wally shook his head as he dropped into the room’s visiting chair. “I’ve seen Tiktoks about it.”

Roy’s lips quirked. “Right. I forgot you’re still a baby.”

Wally scowled. “Dude, you’re two years older than me. That’s it.”

Roy chuckled but it broke when he started coughing, his whole body folding in on itself. Wally was up in a moment but he stayed still when Roy thrust out his hand, his other hand fisted against his lips. When Roy’s coughing faded, he looked up at Wally with darkened eyes.It wasn’t directed at Wally though. “Sorry.”

Wally’s hope of getting past the incident faded away. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Roy leaned back into his pillows, his red hair crossing over his face. “No? Not really?” He paused and licked his lips. “Or maybe… maybe, yeah.”

Wally sat down again and scooted his chair closer to Roy’s cot. “If you need to talk or rant, you can with me. I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise. I’ll just listen.”

Roy made a face of fake disdain. “I forgot how much of a goody two shoes you Central City heroes are, West.”

Wally grinned and held out his hand, his pinky extended. An offer and an invitation.

Roy’s eyes lingered on Wally’s pinky. “You sure you want to keep my secrets, West?” he whispered. “My dad and Dinah are so ashamed of me. My siblings are horrified. I bet my entire campus knows I got busted. My non-vigilante friends haven’t even texted. I don’t even—I don’t know if I can go through rehab.”

Wally’s hand did not waver. “Friends,” he said.

Roy smiled back. “Friends.”

--

Wally wasn’t really sure what to say. On one hand, he trusted Roy; with his life, with his secrets, and with his limited edition Oreos that Roy stashed in his attic for Wally. But this wasn’t Raven going on another sugar diet or Wally blabbing about how badly he hurt his ankle crashing over a counter when Captain Cold sent him sliding on a flat sheet of ice. This was real shit. And real shit was scary.

“I don’t really know where to start.” Wally leaned on Roy’s kitchen counter and let himself fade back into the present again, seep into the moment in time where he really was.

Roy’s kitchen was immaculate, despite the amount of dishes Roy had just finished loading into his dishwasher.

If there was one thing Wally could bet his life on, it was that Roy’s kitchen was always going to smell good; the white wood cabinet door cracked open revealed shelves of spices, freshly washed herbs hung from the cabinets, and bowls of batter topped with saran wrap littered the back counter space.

Roy’s kitchen was a peninsula layout. The stools Wally sat on were wood, several shades lighter than the dark glossy wood slats that ran through the whole first floor.

Lian’s crayon drawings were pinned in the place of honour: the fridge.

If Wally looked behind him, he’d see Roy’s front door and stairs, the entranceway edging into the left of the living room, where Lian’s toys were scattered all over the floor. Lian, herself, was at Grandma Dinah’s tonight, which was the only reason Wally had felt it was okay to drop by. If Lian saw any of her close family with blood or rubble on them, it would probably ruin any illusion Roy tried to maintain of their family being normal.

He wanted a good life for Lian. If she wanted to choose their path when she was older, that was up to her,

But she was four right now and still believed in Santa Claus, so Wally couldn’t blame Roy for lying.

The living room extended all the way to Wally’s right, the arched wall leading into the kitchen. If Wally really focused, he could see the path Roy made late at night coming in from the living room’s sidedoor: all of the fallen magazines and muddened footprints creased onto the nice rug.

Roy had made a home here and it was a nice one.

Roy handed Wally a warm mug of hot chocolate, his amber eyes saturated with concern. “Start somewhere.”

Wally took a deep breath, sipped some of his hot chocolate, and cleared his throat. “Well—”

Roy’s side door burst open.

Wally jumped and only through sheer superhero reflexes did he manage to keep his hot chocolate from spilling. “Geez!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Roy ran to shut the front door again. “The door’s busted. It keeps springing open. I haven’t had time to find a contractor in the past few weeks.”

Wally’s heart was still pounding. He gripped his t-shirt with a laugh. “Ha. Cool.”

Roy returned to the opposite side of his kitchen island apologetically. “You were saying?”

Wally laughed for real this time, his fist in his shirt loosening. He shook his head, the stress of the past few days melting away. Just shedding. “I missed you, man. You and your broken house.”

“It’s got character,” Roy laughed, eyes sparkling.

Wally chuckled until the good feeling seeped into his bones and lingered. He stared at his mug with a wistful smile. “It’s been a rough few months.”

“I’ve heard,” Roy said. When Wally swung his head up, Roy quickly raised his hands in defence. “I only heard some shit about Central City being a major shitshow. My family went. Lian was sick that week so I was here with her.”

“Shitshow was an understatement,” Wally said. “But this goes back farther than that.”

“Okay,” Roy said with an encouraging nod.

Wally exhaled as much as he could. “Life just sucks for us,” he said, “y’know? You work every day and every night and it never gets better. I—I guess I’ve been having a hard time with it for a while but it hadn’t hit me, like, really hit me until Raven and I—we got into a fight. She brought up my workaholic-ness and I just—” Wally made a frustrated sound, his eyes on his clenched hands. “I just snapped. I didn’t mean to. It just really hit home, for the first time.

“I—I got lost in it. In saving people. I told myself to just keep running because it would help.”

“But it didn’t?” Roy guessed.

Wally shook his head. “No, it did not. It didn’t help. It just made everything hurt more. Like I’d highlighted all the shit that was wrong with me? Then Central City happened and Raven got hurt and I—oh, I saw Iris again.”

Roy grimaced. “How’d that go?”

“Not great,” Wally said. “Understatement, actually. That was the shitshow of the day. Not Cold and his Rogues. Me and my aunt.” He laughed humorlessly. “She got in my head, said a bunch of shit about vigilantes and it—I mean, she was right. She is. She always is. I just couldn’t hear it at the time.

“So I started running. I vomited in a field. I was a mess. And it just—it hit me. I don’t know what I’m doing this for. I mean, I initially became Kid Flash because Barry needed help and—and I wanted to be his partner. But that was a decade ago. I guess I’ve never re-evaluated my purpose in this suit, in this League. I wanted space. So I… went… to Gotham.”

Roy choked on his hot chocolate. He started coughing. Wally stood up but Roy extended his hand so Wally just waited.

When Roy finished coughing, his first words were: “You went to Gotham?”

“Okay, so that’s an opinion,” Wally said.

“Wally—Gotham is a graveyard of vigilantes,” Roy said, standing, his stool scraping backwards against kitchen tile, “not to mention, your being there breaks one of the most delicate treaties in human history! What were you thinking?”

“Well, I wasn’t!” Wally exclaimed, before he giddily added, “But I met someone.”

Roy sagged back into his stool. “Oy vey.”

Wally knew going to Gotham was bad. It was very bad. Downright treacherous.

He hadn’t realised how bad it was until Roy reacted to his news.

But no one had seen him run… Wally was pretty sure.

And there was no one who he’d given his name to except for—

“His name is Dick,” Wally said. “And he was my first date in six years, Roy. I’m not even—I’m grateful I met him—but it’s the experience of being free, of getting to be Wally West that has left me—”

Changed.

Wally couldn’t say it.

Roy’s expression changed. “Walls…”

“I don’t—” Wally’s voice cracked. “I don’t know where to go from here.” He buried his face in his folded arms on Roy’s counter.

Silence. Utter silence.

Wally could feel Roy’s gaze bearing down on him but it wasn’t hostile and so Wally sat in the silence between them and let Roy process everything he had just heard.

“You screwed up,” Roy said at last. “But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, it’s understandable.”

“Thank you,” Wally said.

“I can’t help you with more than that,” Roy said.

Wally’s jaw dropped. “Roy,” he said in disbelief. “I need help.”

Roy raised his hands. “This isn’t my life, man, it’s yours. I can’t tell you where to go from here. Heck, I don’t even know what you should do. That’s up to you.”

Wally ran his hands through his hair, still a little stunned. He had come to Roy for help. Because he didn’t know what to do!

Or maybe he did.

Maybe that was the problem.

“You need to decide what your priorities are,” Roy said, “right here, right now. No more delaying the decision.” He leaned forwards on his elbows, brown eyes glinting. “What do you want to do?”

Wally made a sound of utter and pure frustration. “I don’t know!” He stood, with his hands curled tersely around his head, his feet wearing pathways into Roy’s wood floor. “I don’t know. I—how do I—how do I fix this?”

“You start small,” Roy said gently.

Wally’s eyes watered. “Where?”

“Walls.” Roy tilted his head sympathetically. “You start at home.”

--

Raven was pretty sure Jackson was playing a sick, cruel game with her, because why else would there be algae in their bathroom trash can? “Goddamn Atlantean,” Raven complained, dumping the trashcan’s contents into the larger bag she was toting around. “Making me do the garbage while he’s on a date. Bet it’s real funny for him to have the mage clean up his algae. And where did it even come from? Keystone City has no lakes!”

Keystone City had many rivers and rainy days but how did that explain algae?

“Disgusting,” Raven muttered, exiting their communal bathroom.

From the other side of the house, the front door opening and closing made Raven frown.

“Jackson?” Raven called, her voice echoing through the empty rooms, as she headed back towards the living room. “Why are you back so—” She rounded the corner and when she saw Wally standing in the kitchen, with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, she gasped and dropped the bag of trash she’d been carrying.

Wally had it in his hands before she could blink. “Hey, Raven.”

“Walls,” Raven breathed. “Holy fuck.”

“Garbage day?” Wally lifted the bag to sniff it and instantly recoiled. “Nope. What is that?”

Raven managed to cross her arms clumsily. “Algae.”

Wally made a face. “Gross, Jackson.”

Raven could have laughed. Instead she started crying.

Wally’s expression could have moved mountains. He opened his arms to hug her and—

—large purple chains shot out of the kitchen tile and wrapped around Wally’s arms, chaining him in place. The chains visibly tightened and Wally gasped in pain. The way he looked at her, green eyes wide with hurt, was damning. “Raven?”

A tear slid down Raven’s cheek as she stared down at her shaky hands, where black trails of magic were slowly drifting away. She hadn’t even realised her magic was back.

Her hands curled into fists. Raven looked at Wally—at her brother, her teammate, and her friend—and she let her discombobulated feelings tear through her like a hurricane.

Raven was angry. She was hurt. She felt betrayed.

She’d been in the hospital for injuries Barbara hadn’t been able to get through without crying.

Wally had left.

“I was in the hospital,” Raven whispered. She hugged her stomach, feeling her magic start to seep out of the cracks in her facade. Magic dribbled out of her, blooming into dark plants that slowly began to coat surrounding kitchen walls and floor. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Wally’s eyes watered. “Raven—”

“Barbara’s been looking for you.” Raven’s stomach tilted violently and she thought she might be sick. “All day. Every day. Jesus, she—” Raven pressed her hand to her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes burned. “She hasn’t gotten sleep in days. And—and Jackson—fuck. Do you know where he is, right now? I finally convinced him to go see his boyfriend because he’s been worried sick about you. We all have been.”

“Raven,” Wally whispered, his eyes red and teary.

“You better have a good explanation,” Raven snapped.

“I—I’m going to try,” Wally said. “But I need you to let me go.”

Raven blinked rapidly.

Wally’s eyes fell to his arms; Raven remembered the chains but she hadn’t even noticed the dark magical flowers now encasing Wally’s arms, wrapping around his forearms. The plants were everywhere: they coated the chairs in purple moss, vines dangling from the ceiling, covering the room in a distant haze.

Raven raised her hands and the plants burned away.

And she could finally breathe.

“Speak,” she said.

Wally rubbed his wrists, leaning back against their kitchen counter. “I haven’t been okay in a long time,” Wally confessed. “You told me the truth and I couldn’t handle it, so I pushed you away. And then Iris told me the same thing and I ran. It was my first instinct.” Wally looked directly at Raven, sorrowfully, and said, “It was the wrong thing to do. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have left. This team, this League, has taught me that leaning on the people who care about you is your biggest strength. I forgot that. I should have been here. I want to do better.”

Raven swallowed, folding her arms. “Where did you go?”

Wally rubbed his neck. “It’s… a long story.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Wally West,” Raven warned.

Wally raised his hands. “Okay. Okay. I went to Gotham.”

Raven gasped. “Wally.”

Wally pointed at her. “That was Roy’s reaction!”

Raven knew without a doubt Barbara was listening in through their phones. Normally, she wouldn’t monitor them but Wally was now a flight risk. Raven could only imagine how shocked the other woman was. “Barbara is—shit.”

“I’m okay,” Wally said. “I just—I needed space. And it helped. It did. So did Roy. I’m… I’m starting to figure things out.”

“Like?” Raven said.

Wally shook his head. “Flash can wait. I need to be here. With you guys.”

Raven almost openly sobbed. She settled for rushing into Wally’s arms and hugging him tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

She could hear Wally’s smile, tentative and small, but starting to grow. “I will be.”

--

When Jackson came home, Wally repeated everything he’d told Raven. Jackson had started bawling the moment he saw Wally in the doorway. Their night ended with a marathon of 2000s movies and a garbage bin full of empty ice cream containers.

Wally hadn’t lied to Raven.

Deep down, he knew; he was going to be okay. He could feel it.