Archive of Our Own

The way Wally had always understood it, falling in love was something that happened gradually. But he could pinpoint the exact moment he’d looked at his best friend and thought, “Oh shit.”

It was the end of an era, though Wally hadn’t known it at the time. Dick was in his first semester of college, struggling to balance school, hero work, and his relationships; struggling to assert his independence while still operating as Batman’s sidekick. Wally was in college too, though he had it easier in terms of workload. He’d retired from hero work.

Wally had initially feared that his friendship with Dick might not survive Wally calling it quits. And it was true that they didn’t see each other nearly as often as they used to. But they kept in touch. They texted all the time, and Wally wasted many an evening on the phone with Dick when they were both supposed to be studying. (It wasn’t a waste. Not really.) And the rare times a vigilante team-up took Batman and Robin to Central City, Dick always visited.

It was during one such visit when it happened. The moment. They were saying their goodbyes; Dick could never stay for long. It felt like heartbreak every time he had to leave. Maybe that should have been a sign.

They hugged, a friendly gesture. Except when Dick pulled back, his hands remained on Wally’s arms, and his eyes tracked over Wally’s face like he was memorizing him. The light from Wally’s dorm room window hit just right; Dick’s tan skin looked gold and the loose, dark curls sticking up from his head glowed and Wally noticed, not for the first time, but sort of for the first time, that Dick was probably the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

And that was when he thought, “Oh shit.”

Dick left. Wally smiled and waved goodbye and said something stupid but sort of funny and Dick laughed and Wally closed the door behind him. And then he stood there in his dorm room and had a crisis.

His initial inclination was to dismiss what had just happened. Yeah, Dick Grayson was stunning; what else was new? Practically every female superhero they’d ever worked with thought so. It didn’t have to mean anything that Wally had noticed his friend was objectively attractive. He had eyes.

It didn’t have to mean anything that Wally lived for his and Dick’s conversations and the times they saw each other. They were best friends, after all, and they’d been through a lot together, and they were both going through a lot separately.

Wally’s denial lasted just long enough for everything to fall apart. Barry died and Wally had to take over as the Flash. Dick got fired from being Robin and struck out on his own. And then it didn’t matter whether Wally’s feelings for Dick were entirely platonic. They both had other shit to deal with. And Dick was rarely ever single, anyway. So even if Wally did have feelings for him, he couldn’t act on them.

A few years passed. Wally settled into his new role and Dick settled into his. Batman had a new Robin, which had pissed Dick off at first, but Jason had grown on him. Wally was an official member of the Justice League.

Dick was single.

Wally’s feelings hadn’t gone away. If anything, they’d only grown stronger. Harder to ignore. Impossible to deny.

It was the perfect time to make a move. If Wally waited much longer, someone else might beat him to the punch. He didn’t want that to happen.

He made a plan. It took him weeks to finally talk himself into going through with it. Once he did, he put on one of his date-night outfits. He bought flowers. He ran to Blüdhaven.

He stood outside the door to Dick’s apartment. This was it. No turning back.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Wally knocked on the door. Usually he would hear Dick on the other side – “Coming!” – but today there was no response. Wally frowned, second guessing himself. He’d wanted this to be a surprise visit, but maybe he should have texted to make sure Dick was home…

The door opened, and Dick appeared. Wally’s heart sank into his stomach.

Dick looked like he’d been crying. Wally had never seen Dick cry. As far as Wally knew, Dick didn’t let anyone see him cry. But there was no mistaking his red eyes, red nose, silver tear tracks down his cheeks. His gaze was distant, like he was looking at Wally but not really seeing him. Over Dick’s shoulder, Wally could see the whole of Dick’s apartment; Dick had left his Nightwing costume out in plain sight, in a heap on the floor with his escrima sticks.

Wally didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “Dick,” he said, unsurprised that his voice came out questioning, apprehensive.

“You came,” Dick said, sounding shocked but grateful, and also hollow and shaken and raw. Wally was shifting gears; he wasn’t going to ask Dick out today like he’d planned. Clearly Dick needed him. But not like that.

Dick glanced down at the bouquet in Wally’s hand, a dozen red roses. Shit. How was Wally going to explain why he’d brought flowers without giving himself away? What excuse could he give that Dick wouldn’t see right through?

Wally braced himself for a difficult and probably very awkward series of questions, but Dick only had one, and it wasn’t one Wally had been expecting to hear: “Who told you?”

The question didn’t make sense to Wally. “What?”

Dick met his gaze. “Who told you about… about Jason?”

Jason? What about Jason?

A sense of dread crept up Wally’s spine as he asked, “What do you mean?”

Dick shook his head. His eyes were shining. His voice was thick. “Don’t make me say it, Walls, I…” He looked away, blinking rapidly, and a few more tears slipped past his lashes. “I can’t.”

Wally stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dick, pulling him in for a crushing hug. The roses pressed into Dick’s back. Dick buried his face in Wally’s shoulder and let out a gut-wrenching sob.

“Shh,” Wally said in a soft, gentle voice. “It’s okay.” He still wasn’t fully clear on what had happened. Something involving Jason. Something bad. Really bad. Last Wally had heard, Batman and Robin were in another country. He couldn’t remember if he’d heard it from Dick or from someone in the Justice League.

“It’s not okay,” Dick disagreed.

“I know.” Wally tried to sound soothing. “Let it out.”

While Dick cried, Wally ushered them both into the apartment without breaking their embrace, shutting the door behind them. Dick’s body shook with the force of his sobs. The sounds he was making, like an injured animal, would haunt Wally for a very long time.

“I’m sorry,” Wally muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

“He was just a kid, Walls,” Dick said against the fabric of Wally’s shirt. He was holding on to Wally like without him he couldn’t stay on his feet. Staring at the wall past Dick’s head, Wally’s eyes widened in realization.

Was. Was just a kid.

Oh, God.

“Who…” Wally began, then cut himself off and tried again. “Who…” Nope. He still couldn’t.

How old was Jason? Fifteen? Just a kid. Around the same age Wally had been when he’d first joined the Teen Titans. That felt like so long ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“The Joker,” Dick managed, some of the sadness in his voice replaced with rage, and Wally… Wally couldn’t blame him. Wally knew the feeling.

“Fuck,” he said, the only word he could manage, laughably inadequate.

“Bruce is bringing the… bringing him home.” The body. Bruce was bringing the body home. That was what Dick had been about to say. Dick pulled back just enough to look at Wally. They were intimately close, but Wally wasn’t thinking about that right now, and he knew Dick wasn’t either. “I should have gone with them,” Dick said. “Wally, I should have been there.”

Wally shook his head. “You can’t think that way.” Although he knew it wouldn’t stop Dick from blaming himself. Dick always blamed himself. Most heroes did.

“Will you come to the funeral?” Dick asked, sounding desperate.

“Of course I will,” Wally agreed immediately.

“I need you to be there.”

Wally would be there. He would always be there when Dick needed him. And he wasn’t the only one. “Do you want me to tell the others? So you don’t have to?”

Dick chewed on his lower lip. It was a gesture Wally usually found endearing. “It should be me,” he decided.

“Okay,” Wally agreed. “If you’re sure.”

They were still standing close, the stems of Wally’s roses bent in his fist, his other hand rubbing up and down Dick’s back. There was a wet spot on Wally’s shirt where Dick’s face had been. He didn’t care. It wasn’t important.

“Do you want me to stay?” Wally offered. “Do you want to be alone? Do you know if Alfred’s home? I can take you to the Manor—”

“Stay,” Dick requested.

Wally stayed. Wally stayed until Dick had to leave on patrol, and he tried to talk Dick out of it, but Dick wouldn’t listen.

A week later, Wally was in Gotham for the funeral. And a week after that, he was in Blüdhaven again, late at night – technically early in the morning – when Dick had returned from patrol and had a panic attack and hadn’t known who else to call. “I can’t call Bruce. He’s… I can’t call Bruce.” Then Dick had apologized profusely for waking Wally up, for inconveniencing him.

This became a theme: Dick requesting Wally’s company, then apologizing, like he was being a burden. Like this wasn’t what friends were for. Wally sat with him and talked to him and watched mindless TV with him to take his mind off his grief.

Time passed. Wally came to Blüdhaven as often as he could. It reminded him of when Barry had died. Dick hadn’t been able to run halfway across the country at the drop of a hat, but he’d found ways to be there for Wally whenever he could. They talked on the phone even more than they had before. And Dick had extended an open invitation for Wally to come to Blüdhaven whenever he wanted, whenever he needed; “I’ll always make time for you, Walls.”

Wally knew he wasn’t the only one making an effort for Dick, and that was a good thing. Blüdhaven was a lonely city and Dick lived a lonely life. Before Jason died, Dick had mostly patched things up with Bruce, but their relationship was strained again. To hear Dick tell it, Bruce had shut himself away in Wayne Manor like Elsa in her ice castle, taking the “conceal, don’t feel” approach to recovery.

Wally believed it. Batman had taken a leave of absence from the Justice League; Wally hadn’t seen him in months. Every time someone brought him up during a team meeting or even casual conversation, it was in hushed tones. Everyone felt bad for him. And even though most of them had been through their own experiences with loss, none of them knew what to do. No one knew how to comfort someone as emotionally unavailable as Batman, and anyone who tried got a harsh lecture followed by the silent treatment.

Anyway, Batman wasn’t Wally’s friend. Dick was. Dick was currently his top concern. Although to say Wally was merely concerned would be an understatement.

Dick was disintegrating in front of Wally’s eyes. Wally had seen Dick grow from a wiry teen to a strong, athletic young man; he’d never seen Dick get smaller. But Dick’s clothes weren’t fitting the way they used to. Dick’s cheekbones looked hollow, he had perpetual bluish half-circles under his eyes, and he was always, always, always covered in bruises.

Wally had watched Dick stitch up more wounds over the past months than he had in their entire friendship before that. When Wally expressed his concerns, Dick brushed him off. When Wally pressed the issue, Dick snapped at him.

Dick wouldn’t talk about how he was feeling. He didn’t talk much at all. Wally talked, and Dick sat and listened, looking only half-there. He’d gone from begging Wally to come keep him company to tolerating Wally’s presence. He’d gone from one of the brightest, liveliest people Wally knew to a shell of his former self.

Wally didn’t know what to do. He’d thought he could make things better just by being there for Dick, but it wasn’t enough. Dick needed something Wally couldn’t give.

Dick needed his family.

It was three P.M. on a Saturday, which meant Bruce had only just gotten up and made his way downstairs for a cup (or three) of coffee. He was sitting at the kitchen island in silence, staring at his phone. He had hundreds of work emails to catch up on. His concentration was shot to hell. He had to read everything at least three times before he internalized it. And even once he internalized it, he had to remind himself why he cared.

He needed to continue to show up and put his all – what little he had – into work, so the company would continue to succeed, so he could use the profits to fund his charity work and vigilantism. Work was important, even if it felt meaningless. Gotham still needed him.

The doorbell rang as Bruce was giving himself this half-hearted pep talk. He closed his eyes. If he ignored it, whoever was at his door would go away. He sipped his coffee and reread the email he had open on his phone. Something about climate commitments. The sort of thing Bruce would normally be passionate about.

The doorbell rang again. Bruce gritted his teeth. He wasn’t expecting company. He never expected company these days. He didn’t want company. He didn’t want anything.

He wanted his son back.

The doorbell rang a third time, and Bruce was about to answer it just to tell whoever it was to fuck off. He knew he shouldn’t do that, though. He had a reputation to uphold. He was barely clinging onto it as it was.

Batman’s reputation had gone downhill as well. Bruce was taking his anger and frustration and grief and rage out on the criminals of Gotham. There were plenty of people who had something to say about that. Bruce wasn’t listening to them.

Bruce finished his cup of coffee and was pouring another when whoever was at the door started knocking. Slow and steady at first, then faster, louder, a clear message: I’m not going anywhere.

Bruce stood, his stool scraping against the kitchen tile, and stormed out of the room, down the hall, into the front parlor. He threw open the front door. If it was that Drake kid again—

Bruce took in the person standing on his doorstep. Tall, lean, red hair.

It was Wally West.

Wally hadn’t been to Wayne Manor in years. The last time he’d been there, Dick had still been living at home. Wally had been Kid Flash. Bruce hadn’t even known Jason existed.

“There you are,” Wally said, crossing his arms over his chest. Bruce was struck, seeing Wally out of costume, by how much older Wally looked. Barry had always been leaner than many of his teammates, and Wally was the same. But he’d filled out some. His face had gained definition. He was taller.

He was looking at Bruce expectantly, and Bruce realized he’d spent several seconds too long just standing there. He’d forgotten how to interact with people outside of work. The manners Alfred had drilled into him that had once been instinctive were now, at most, an afterthought. It was fine. Alfred wasn’t here. And Bruce wasn’t trying to be polite.

“Get out,” he said flatly. In another state of mind, Bruce might have been curious what could have brought Wally here by way of the front door instead of the Batcave. But as it was, it didn’t matter.

“No,” Wally replied, refusing to back down. “This is important. Let me in.”

Bruce glared. He knew it wouldn’t be effective. Wally had faced Bruce down when Bruce was in peak physical condition, fully suited up and glowering through the cowl; he wasn’t going to be intimidated by Bruce in a bathrobe and house slippers looking like the walking dead. But Bruce did it anyway.

“Whatever it is, Clark or Diana or anyone else can handle it. I’m taking a leave of absence from the Justice League. Barring an apocalypse scenario, I’m unavailable.”

“This isn’t about the League,” Wally told Bruce.

“In that case, I’m even more unavailable.”

Bruce moved to shut the door in Wally’s face. Actually, he thought about moving to shut the door in Wally’s face, but before the impulse had fully translated into motion, Wally’s hand was on the door, holding it open. “It’s about your son,” Wally said, steel in his voice.

Your son. Wally couldn’t have known how the words would affect Bruce. He couldn’t have known who they would have made him think of first. Or maybe he could. Maybe that had been his intention, to shock Bruce into listening to him.

No, Bruce thought, Wally wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t callous. He just didn’t always think about the implications behind his words before he said them. And Wally was Dick’s friend. Dick’s best friend, if Bruce wasn’t mistaken. Of course he was talking about Dick.

Truth be told, Bruce hadn’t given much thought to his oldest son lately. He knew that was a terrible thing to admit. But he hadn’t given much thought to anything other than Jason since Jason’s death. Not even the rest of his family. Not even himself.

And that was what ultimately convinced Bruce to open the door the rest of the way and let Wally in. Bruce was still a father. He hadn’t stopped being one when Jason died. He had another kid, and he hadn’t seen that kid out of costume since…

Since the funeral. And they hadn’t even spoken at the funeral. Dick had been surrounded by his former Titans teammates; Wally had been glued to his side. Bruce, on the other hand, had eschewed all human (and non-human) contact. Clark and Diana had both made valiant attempts at comforting him, to no avail. Selina had approached him afterward with words of her own; Bruce had barely heard them.

Bruce had, neglectfully, left his oldest son in the hands of his friends. But just as Bruce still had a responsibility to Gotham now that Jason was gone, he also had a responsibility to his family. To Dick.

“We’ll talk in the study,” he announced, and turned on his heel to lead Wally through the house. Wally followed.

“Where’s Alfred?” Wally asked as they passed room after empty room.

“Taking time off.”

“Now?” Wally sounded scandalized. Bruce glanced at him over his shoulder.

“You’re familiar with the concept of bereavement leave,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, but…” Wally trailed off, still visibly confused. And for good reason. Bruce hadn’t given him the whole story.

Yes, Alfred was taking time off. Bruce had practically forced him to. He’d driven Alfred away, because he’d wanted to be alone with his grief. He’d wanted to wallow in it, and Alfred kept trying to pull him out. That wasn’t what Bruce wanted. He didn’t want to move on. He didn’t ever want to get over it.

“What?” Bruce prompted.

Wally frowned for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

In the study, Bruce sat behind his desk – he needed it, a literal barrier between himself and his unexpected house guest; it felt like protection – and Wally sat in an armchair, looking awkward and out of place.

Bruce cut to the chase. “Why are you here?” If something was going on with Dick that he needed to know about, he didn’t want to beat around the bush.

Wally straightened his spine and tried to look imposing. Bruce could tell that was what he was trying to do because Bruce had seen him do it before, in Justice League meetings or on missions when Batman and the Flash disagreed on how to approach a situation (which happened often).

“Let’s get this out of the way first,” Wally began, eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m trying to be sympathetic. But I don’t have a lot of respect for you right now. You’re being a shitty father, and that’s coming from me.”

If Wally thought he could faze Bruce with accusations of being a bad parent, then clearly he didn’t know Bruce. Bruce was well aware of his failings. He’d lost his youngest son because of them. “That better not be all you came here to say.”

“It’s not,” Wally asserted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to make his point. He looked grave. “Dick’s in a bad place. I know that sounds obvious. He’s grieving. You all are. But you haven’t been there; you haven’t seen it. I have. It’s bad. And I’m trying to…”

Wally paused, considering his next words. Bruce waited.

“I don’t know what I’m trying to do,” Wally admitted. “I’m trying to keep him from falling apart, but I can’t do it on my own. I’m not enough. I tried to be.” Wally looked broken-hearted. Like he truly had expected – or perhaps not expected, but hoped – that his support alone would be enough to get Dick through one of the worst times of his life.

It was naive, but it was the sort of optimistic naivete Bruce had come to associate with many of his fellow heroes. In a way, he begrudgingly respected it. He’d seen what one determined, optimistic person could accomplish.

Wally continued, “And I’m not the only one who’s tried to help him. We all have. All his friends. But…” Wally sighed, then powered on toward his conclusion. “He needs more than us. He needs his dad. He needs you.”

Bruce knew Wally was right. Alfred had told Bruce the same thing, many times. Bruce answered the same way he had answered then: “I can’t.”

Bruce wasn’t in a position to help anyone. He was barely holding himself together. He wasn’t holding himself together, truthfully.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Wally argued. “You don’t have a choice. I wouldn’t have come here and bothered you like this if I could think of any other way.” Bruce must have still looked doubtful, because Wally added emphatically, “Bruce, I mean it. I’m not overreacting. I’m coming here as a last resort to tell you that if you don’t show up for your son soon there’s a chance you might go from having two to having zero.”

Bruce couldn’t not react to that. His eyes widened and his eyebrows drew together in concern. “Yeah,” Wally said. “Now you know how I feel.”

“What did he say to give you that impression?” Bruce asked, already piecing together evidence, already drawing up plans. His initial anger at Wally for intruding into his life disappeared in an instant. Wally had been right to come here.

“He hasn’t said anything. You know him; he’s trying to pretend he’s doing fine.” Yes, that was what Dick would do. “But he’s not sleeping. He’s not eating. He’s letting criminals beat the shit out of him every night. What you guys do is dangerous, and he’s getting sloppy. No,” Wally amended, making unbreaking eye contact to drive his words home, “He’s beyond sloppy. He’s deliberately putting himself in situations that he knows he might not make it out of.”

Bruce felt like an idiot. Of course Dick was doing all of that. It was exactly what Bruce had been doing. Bruce and Dick had always been similar in more ways than they were different. “How long has this been going on?”

“A while,” Wally told him. “Not the whole time, but most of it.”

Bruce was silent for several seconds, strategizing. He had to trust Wally’s assessment of the situation; he didn’t have anything else to go on. Wally had been by Dick’s side when Bruce hadn’t. When Bruce should have been. He’d been so absorbed by his own grief and he’d pushed everyone else in his life away, including his own family.

Bruce knew, now, that this couldn’t continue. He couldn’t keep shutting out the rest of the world. Not all of it. His remaining son needed him.

But Bruce’s problems remained: He didn’t know what to say to Dick. He didn’t know what to do.

“I…” Bruce began, then paused, then started again. “I am concerned my presence might make things worse.”

“Impossible,” Wally replied immediately.

“It’s very possible.” Bruce could always, always, always find a way to make things worse.

Wally remained unconvinced. “Not if you make an effort. That’s all I’m asking you to do. Please. For Dick. I know you’re capable of it. You’re Batman.”

“Even I have my limits.”

“This isn’t one of them.” Wally wasn’t backing down. He was as stubborn as any superhero. “Sometimes you have to be there for someone even though you’re going through your own shit. That’s what heroes do. I learned that from Dick. He was there for me when I lost Barry, even though he was going through his own shit with you. And do you know who he learned it from?”

Bruce already knew what Wally was going to say before he said it: “You.” Wally pointed a finger at Bruce. “You set aside your own grief to be there for a kid who needed you. Dick told me that, before he even knew you were Batman, that was what made him believe that heroes still existed. He’s not a kid anymore, but he’s still your son, and he needs you just as much as he needed you then.”

Wally leaned back in his chair, having said his piece. Bruce took a minute to absorb Wally’s words. Then he said, “Alright. You can go.”

“You’ll talk to Dick?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Wally stood, a little awkwardly. Now that he’d accomplished what he’d come here to do, he’d lost the air of purpose that had propelled him this far. He looked out of place. “Okay,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and taking a step backward, in the direction of the door. “Good.”

He hesitated another moment, a frown on his face. He turned to leave, but at the door to the study, he stopped and turned back.

“Listen.” Wally was making eye contact again, searchingly this time. “Dick’s my friend, and I care about him, but you’re… my teammate.” He stumbled over his words. “Are you… Do you need…” He cleared his throat. “Have you been talking to someone? Clark? Diana?”

“No,” Bruce told him.

“Maybe you should.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Wally held up his hands. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Bruce didn’t appreciate anyone telling him how to cope with his problems. However, he had to admit, he was… charmed by this brief glimpse at the old Wally West, who thought of Bruce as his best friend’s dad and not just his moody teammate.

Bruce sighed. Fine. He would throw the kid a bone. After all, he’d come all this way out of concern for Bruce’s son. He deserved some credit for that.

“Wally?”

Wally stopped with his hand on the door. “Yeah?”

“You did the right thing.”

Wally nodded. “I know.”

And then he left, and Bruce heard him walk down the hall and out the front door, and Bruce was alone.

He finally slipped out of his emotionless mask. His face crumpled and he buried his head in his hands.

He knew what he had to do. He just needed to figure out how to do it.

Dick had a routine. Some people might have called it a rut. Or an obvious sign of depression. But Dick was going to call it a routine.

He woke to his alarm. It was the loudest, most obnoxious sound he could find; otherwise he would sleep right through it. He spent between five and twenty minutes in bed, entertaining fantasies of calling in sick to work or quitting his job and letting Bruce pay all his bills.

Finally, he rolled out of bed, used the bathroom, and took either a very hot or very cold shower, uncomfortable enough to wake him up and deter him from staying in there too long, staring at the tile and dissociating.

He got out of the shower, toweled off, and then he brushed his teeth. Dental care was expensive and his health insurance was shit. No matter how depressed he was, he had to brush his teeth.

He got dressed in his police uniform and made a half-hearted effort at styling his hair. His hair used to be his pride and joy. He used to care about his appearance. But when he looked in the mirror now, he didn’t recognize himself. He was fading away.

More often than not, he skipped breakfast. He made himself coffee and drank the whole pot. He sat at his kitchen table mindlessly scrolling through the news on his phone and waited until it was time to leave.

He went to work. He did his job, effectively but without enthusiasm. He turned down his coworkers’ offers to get drinks. Most of them didn’t bother with him anymore.

He returned home and collapsed in front of the TV. Usually this was around when he realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He drank a protein shake and ordered takeout, ate it in front of the nightly news.

Sometimes Wally came over. Sometimes someone else did. They all tried to cheer him up. They all failed. They all tried to hide how worried they were about him. They all failed.

Once it was late enough, he changed into his costume and went out on patrol. He threw himself headfirst into danger. He went into dicey situations with little intel and half-baked plans. He came away injured. He hardly felt it.

He collapsed in bed, often barely making it out of his costume before he did. Stitching up wounds if he had to. His sheets always had blood on them.

He slept, and had nightmares. Old ones, of his parents. New ones, of Jason. Variations on a theme.

Dick was tired. Exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t touch. He didn’t know what the solution was. He couldn’t see a way forward anymore. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, because it was the only thing he knew how to do, but he felt like he wasn’t going anywhere.

His friends were probably getting sick of him being like this, not getting any better. Hell, he was sick of himself.

It was Dick’s day off, a day when his normal schedule didn’t apply. He stayed in bed as long as he could. Usually by now he would’ve heard from someone, one of his friends – usually Wally – offering to come over, but his phone remained silent.

A little after noon, there was a knock on his door. Perhaps he’d spoken too soon.

He didn’t know if he could handle socialization today, but he didn’t have a choice. Not to mention he was still in his pajamas, unshowered. At least his friends didn’t expect him to put on a happy face and play host.

Dick crossed the room and answered the door without checking to see who it was. It didn’t really matter, he thought.

He’d thought wrong. The person standing in his doorway wasn’t one of Dick’s former teammates, or Barbara. It wasn’t his landlord or someone with the wrong address. It wasn’t even that Drake kid.

It was Bruce.

Dick stood there, stunned. He hadn’t seen Bruce out of costume since the funeral. He didn’t look well. He looked how Dick looked when he saw himself in the mirror: like he was fading away.

“Can I come in?” Bruce asked. Even his voice sounded hollow.

Dick considered this. His mind was already running through possibilities, explanations for why Bruce would be here. Naturally, it considered the worst option first: that something bad had happened. Again.

Already panicking on the inside, Dick opened the door the rest of the way to let Bruce in. “I guess,” he said warily.

Bruce stepped inside. His hands were in his pockets and he was staring intently down at the floor, a concentrated frown on his face. He didn’t look like the bearer of bad news. He looked…

Oh, God. He looked like he was about to try to start an emotional conversation.

“Why are you here?” Dick demanded.

Bruce looked up, met his gaze. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you.”

Fuck. Dick couldn’t do this. His friends had each tried to talk to him about his feelings; Dick had shut them all down. Bruce wasn’t as easily deterred. “About what?”

Bruce’s gaze swept over Dick’s figure, taking him in. Tired. Thin. At least his pajamas hid the series of fresh bruises along his torso, the stitched-up knife wound in his thigh. “How are you?” Bruce ventured.

Dick raised his eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest. Seriously? That was how Bruce was going to start? “How am I?” he repeated.

Bruce looked away. “I know,” he said. “I— I know.”

Dick finally connected the dots. Why Bruce was here, seemingly out of the blue.

A few weeks ago, Wally had tried to talk to Dick about Bruce: Had Dick seen Bruce recently? Had Bruce reached out? Had they talked? Wally had offered, in that way he had where he made it sound like he was joking when he was actually serious, to give Bruce a piece of his mind about neglecting his duties as a parent, and Dick had begged him not to. Of course Wally hadn’t listened.

“Wally put you up to this,” Dick said. “I told him to leave you alone.”

It wasn’t a question. No way would Bruce have come here to have an emotional conversation of his own accord. And Alfred couldn’t have convinced him; Alfred was in England. Dick was just surprised that Wally’s plan had actually worked.

“He was right,” Bruce replied, confirming it. “I haven’t been there for you.”

Dick shrugged half-heartedly. “I haven’t exactly been there for you either.” Yeah, maybe Dick needed his father. But, as the kid – Tim – had pointed out when he’d shown up in Dick’s life with knowledge of his secret identity and an itemized list of reasons why Dick should go back to being Robin, Bruce needed Dick too.

“That’s not your job,” Bruce told him. “I’m your father.”

Oh, so we’re taking that role seriously now? Dick didn’t say that, but he thought it. Bruce hadn’t been much of a father to him since firing Dick. It made an insecure part of Dick suspect he’d never truly been Bruce’s son. Only his sidekick.

“You don’t have to do this, Bruce.”

“I do, actually,” Bruce stubbornly maintained.

“I’m gonna be okay.” Dick tried to make this sound convincing. Evidently he missed the mark.

“Are you?” Bruce challenged.

Dick shrugged. “I’m always okay.”

“Are you?”

Dick didn’t answer. The truth was, he was rarely okay. He hadn’t been okay for a long time after his parents died. Things had been okay for a little while, when he’d had Bruce, Alfred, the Titans. And then his relationship with Bruce had strained until it broke. The Titans had disbanded.

Dick had just been starting to feel okay again, establishing himself as Nightwing, reconnecting with his family, when Jason died.

So the real answer to Bruce’s question was yes. Sometimes. Dick was sometimes okay, for brief periods of time. And it usually meant things were going to come crashing down in a spectacular way.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Bruce offered, his tone low and gentle. It reminded Dick of when he was young, Bruce trying to coax him out of his grief. It made something inside Dick shift out of place, or maybe back into place. He nodded, and Bruce followed him to the kitchen table and sat.

“Do you want something to drink?” Dick asked, remembering the manners Alfred had drilled into him. “I have coffee and tap water.”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Coffee.” Dick had slept in late enough that he didn’t need another cup of coffee, but the process of making it would give him something to focus on that wasn’t this conversation.

“Wally tells me you’re not sleeping,” Bruce said.

Dick frowned, feeling Bruce’s eyes on him as he stood in front of the coffeemaker, facing away. “That’s not new.”

“Or eating,” Bruce added.

“I get enough calories,” Dick insisted. Although this depended largely on one’s definition of “enough.” Dick ate enough not to suffer malnutrition. But he probably didn’t eat as much as someone his size with his lifestyle should be eating in order to maintain that lifestyle.

“Are you sure? You look thin.”

“You sound like Alfred.” Dick placed his hands on the counter and waited for the coffee to brew. Recalling how Bruce looked, just as bad as he did, Dick turned Bruce’s first question around on him. “Have you been sleeping?”

“About as much as I usually do.”

That was a “no.” Dick hesitated before asking his next question. He almost certainly knew the answer. In the end, it came out as a whisper. “Do you dream about it?”

“Yes,” Bruce told him. “Every night.”

Dick felt tears threatening to fall. He blinked them away. “Me too.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” What was there to talk about? Jason was gone. He still haunted both of them, the way their parents did. He probably always would.

They settled into silence as Dick poured the coffee and brought two steaming mugs over to the kitchen table. He sat across from Bruce. Bruce tried to look him in the eye, but Dick avoided his gaze.

“I want to know how you’re doing, Dick,” Bruce said earnestly. “It’s important to me. You’re not sleeping or eating enough. You’re not taking care of yourself. Have you been taking risks?”

Dick glared. “Did Wally tell you that too?” Had Wally told him everything?

“He did,” Bruce confessed. “But I should have known. I’ve been doing the same.”

“You’ve been doing more than taking risks, or so I’ve heard.” There was talk in the Blüdhaven Police Department. There was probably even more talk in Gotham. Batman without Robin wasn’t the same. Like darkness without light.

“I’m not trying to start a fight with you,” Bruce said, refusing to rise to the bait.

Dick was losing his patience. Bruce was intruding on his space, trying to force him to open up, not understanding that Dick was keeping himself closed off for a reason, out of fear of what might come spilling out. Fear that it was the only thing still holding him together.

And he was pissed at Wally. He felt betrayed. He’d trusted Wally, and Wally had gone behind his back. “What are you trying to do?”

“Make sure you’re okay.”

“Obviously I’m not okay,” Dick snapped.

“Poor choice of words,” Bruce admitted, attempting to backtrack.

Dick wouldn’t let him. He got to his feet. “No, listen to me. I’m not okay. Okay?” His voice rose steadily. “I’m not okay! And I feel like I’m never gonna be okay again!” He covered his mouth to stop an embarrassing sound from coming out, a sob. He was breaking down right in front of Bruce. He always tried to avoid that. Bruce was so implacable. When Bruce fell apart, he did it on the inside. Dick tried to do the same. He’d been mostly succeeding, until Bruce showed up in his life again – thanks to Wally – and ruined everything.

“I can’t keep living like this,” Dick continued. It was all coming out now. There was no stopping it. “How many people can I lose, Bruce? How many people can I lose before there’s nothing left of me? Every night I go to sleep and I dream about him and every morning I wake up and I remember everything and a part of me wants to go back to sleep because even watching him die in a million horrible ways is better than living in a world without him.

“I still see him everywhere. I still hear his voice sometimes. I feel like I’m going crazy. And everyone has been so understanding, trying to make me feel better, wanting to help, and I feel like I’m letting them all down. I should be better than this.” Dick wrapped his arms around himself and choked back another sob.

Bruce stood. He took a tentative step toward Dick. “You haven’t let anyone down,” he said.

“I’ve let you down.”

“Never.”

Dick smiled sadly. He thought about Bruce firing him. “You know that’s not true.”

Bruce shook his head. “I let you down.”

“You need me.” Dick thought about what Tim had said. “And I can’t be what you need me to be.”

“All I need you to be is my son.”

Tears slipped down Dick’s cheeks, set loose by Bruce’s words. He looked away. He felt ashamed of himself. He felt like a failure.

Bruce took another step toward him, reached out and put a hand under his chin, forcing Dick to look at him. Dick resisted for a moment before giving in.

Bruce’s eyes were shining. Oh.

“We need to make some changes,” Bruce said softly. “Both of us. I’m going to ask Alfred to come back. When he does, I’d like you to visit. I think we should all be together.”

Dick didn’t have it in him to argue. “Okay.”

“Does your health insurance cover therapy?”

“No.”

“I’ll pay for it, then. Do you still have your emergency credit card?”

“Yes.” Though Dick had never used it. Ever. For any reason.

“Use that,” Bruce told him. Dick would argue with him about this later. He didn’t need Bruce’s money. (He probably needed therapy, though.)

Bruce continued, “And when you’re feeling low, please, please call me. Any time of day, I’ll answer.”

Dick swallowed thickly. “Who will you call?” he asked.

There was a long pause during which Dick thought Bruce might not answer. But he did. “Clark, Diana, or Alfred,” he said.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

Dick nodded, surprised. “Okay.”

Bruce’s hand moved from Dick’s chin to his shoulder, a comforting weight. “I want you to know… You’re not alone. Everything you’ve been feeling, I have too. We’ll get through this.”

“You believe that?”

“We’ve both done it before.” Bruce managed something almost resembling a smile and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Dick let Bruce hug him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder and cried some more while Bruce held him and stroked his hair. “I love you,” Bruce told him. “I’m sorry.”

They stayed that way for an untold amount of time, until Dick’s tears stopped falling and he pulled away. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. Bruce asked if he wanted to come back to the Manor with him.

Dick thought about going back to Wayne Manor. Going home. Going to the last place he’d seen Jason alive.

He thought about staying in his apartment, alone, for the rest of the day.

Dick agreed.

Dick made it back to Blüdhaven that night and went out on patrol. He’d promised Bruce he’d take it easy as long as Bruce did the same. Dick held up his end of the bargain.

In subsequent days, Dick avoided reaching out to Wally, at first because he didn’t trust himself not to say anything he might later regret. He resented Wally for interfering in his life, even though it had turned out okay. He needed time to process those feelings and move past them.

Dick found a therapist in Blüdhaven who specialized in grief counseling. He didn’t use his emergency credit card. He’d saved enough of his own money by dropping out of college, by continuing to drive his beat-up old car even though it made a worrying noise every time he started it, by renting in a dangerous part of town, by using as little energy in his apartment as possible to keep his utilities down. It would eat into his savings account, but what was Dick saving for anyway?

Bruce asked Alfred to come home, and Alfred did, right away. The three of them – Bruce, Dick, and Alfred – resumed their old tradition of weekly family dinners. They were a somber affair. Jason’s absence was keenly felt, his empty spot at the table. But the family was together. And that was something.

Days turned into weeks. The first thing Dick learned from his therapist was this: It was normal that he was still grieving. And though it would fade, gradually, over time, Dick would always feel the loss of Jason, like a hole in his heart. But, for his own sake, he couldn’t keep letting that grief hold him underwater. He had to try to swim. And he didn’t have to do it on his own. There were plenty of people in his life willing to lend him a life jacket.

It was hard. At first, he was barely keeping his head above the water. But Bruce and Alfred were right there with him. They traded tips for battling insomnia. Dick made an effort to get out of his apartment more often, not just for work and patrol. He stocked his kitchen. At night, Dick still took risks, but they were calculated, and he still got hurt, but not as often.

It would take a lot longer for Dick to feel like he was swimming, and not just treading water. But at least now he could breathe.

Tim came back. He wasn’t just smart; he was stubborn. A crucial Robin trait, Dick told Bruce as they were drawing up designs for a new suit. Bruce rolled his eyes.

Dick and Wally were texting again, but Dick hadn’t asked Wally to come over, and Wally hadn’t asked either. Dick could tell Wally was treading lightly, and Dick appreciated that.

Dick had seen some of his other friends. He’d even started saying yes to his coworkers’ offers to get drinks. And he had forgiven Wally. His new therapist had helped him get there. He didn’t know why he was still avoiding Wally. It had been months since they’d seen each other. Wally was probably freaking out. He probably thought Dick hated him.

Dick didn’t hate him. He thought about Wally all the time.

“From everything you’ve told me,” his therapist had said, “It sounds like Wally has been there for you throughout this experience. You told me he was the first person to reach out to you after Jason died.”

And that was true. Wally had been the first person to reach out. He’d been there for Dick that very night, the night he’d received the call. He’d brought flowers.

Thinking back on that night, Dick’s detective instincts kicked in; his brain hadn’t been running at full capacity for a while, for obvious reasons, but it was now, or at least it was getting there. And a few things stuck out to Dick that he hadn’t thought of before.

How had Wally known Jason was dead? Who had told him? Bruce wouldn’t have. Alfred would have wanted to keep the news within the family for at least the first twenty-four hours. Wally was the fastest man alive, sure, but he wasn’t psychic.

And if no one had told Wally about Jason, why had he shown up to Dick’s apartment with flowers?

With a dozen red roses.

Suddenly it all made sense. That was why Dick had been avoiding Wally.

It wasn’t that Dick had never thought about it. His attraction to redheads was infamous. And Wally was a very pretty redhead. All those freckles. That crooked smile. Wally was taller than Dick; Dick liked tall men (and tall women). And Wally was nice. And funny. Dick liked spending time with him.

But Wally was… Wally. Wally was Dick’s best friend. Wally was there for him when Dick needed him. Dick couldn’t lose that. And so he’d dismissed the way he felt, locked it away, buried it deep.

Dick hadn’t known the feeling was mutual. He still didn’t know for sure. He only had a hunch, based on one dozen red roses and years of silent, stolen glances.

If there was one thing Dick had learned from all his years of vigilantism, it was never to ignore a hunch.

Dick had asked him to come over. And Wally had freaked out.

In a good way. Mostly a good way. Dick wanted to see him again. Maybe he hadn’t completely forgiven Wally yet – that remained to be seen – but it was a start. And it was an opportunity for Wally to apologize.

Wally didn’t regret what he’d done. Not for a second. He knew he made the right choice involving Bruce. Even from a distance, Wally could tell it had helped. Wally felt vindicated, but more than that, he felt relieved.

Wally only wanted what was best for Dick. He wanted Dick to be healthy and happy. He wanted Dick to take care of himself and be safe.

He wanted to be in a relationship with Dick – he still had those feelings; they hadn’t faded, had only grown – but that was secondary to everything else. Maybe the day would come when Dick was on his feet again, and still single, and Wally could make his move. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, what mattered was that Dick was alright.

On his way to Dick’s apartment, Wally stopped by a florist. He wasn’t trying to woo Dick – not this time – but he wanted to make some gesture that would underscore how truly sorry he was that he’d had to go behind Dick’s back, and how he wanted to make it up to him. Flowers seemed appropriate.

He picked a yellow bouquet, because he remembered reading somewhere that yellow roses symbolized friendship, or something like that. The point was, it was a platonic bouquet. And it would lend some brightness to Dick’s dismal apartment.

Wally was at Dick’s door in a flash (ha). He took a second to mentally and emotionally prepare himself, the way he had the last time he’d brought Dick flowers, when he’d been planning to ask Dick out. It gave Wally a feeling of foreboding, but he shoved it down and knocked on the door.

Dick answered quickly. He must have been waiting. He stood in the doorway and Wally took him in. He looked so much better than he had the last time Wally had seen him, months ago. His eyes looked brighter. The dark half-circles underneath them were always there, a perpetual part of Dick Grayson’s face – the only sign that, despite his supermodel good looks, he was still human – but they’d faded to their usual hue. Dick was wearing short sleeves and he didn’t have any visible injuries. He hadn’t gotten any thinner.

Wally offered a friendly, if tentative smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dick was taking Wally in too. He was wearing his Resting Batman Face, though – the neutral mask he’d picked up from his father – so Wally had no idea what he was thinking.

Wally cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted from one foot to another. “Been a while.”

“I guess it has, yeah.” Dick glanced over his shoulder at the empty apartment behind him. “Do you want to come in?”

Wally nodded. “If that’s okay.”

Dick stepped aside. Wally entered the apartment. It was cleaner than usual. Not simply decluttered, but scrubbed down, vacuumed. The surfaces gleamed. Everything smelled faintly of citrus. The curtains had all been flung open to let in the light. And there was food in the kitchen. A bunch of bananas and a loaf of whole wheat bread on the counter were all that was visible; hopefully that meant there was more in the cabinets and the fridge.

Wally’s smile grew. Dick was taking care of himself.

“What are those for?” Dick asked, gesturing at Wally’s yellow roses, which Wally had momentarily forgotten.

“Oh.” Wally held them out. “They’re for you.”

Dick gave a little smile of his own. God, it had been so long since Wally had seen a real one of those. “I kinda figured that, Walls. I meant, why?”

“Because I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dick assured him, closing and locking the front door and taking a step closer to Wally. His expression was serious again. Wally mimicked it. This was a serious conversation.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “I only did what I did because I had to, but I’m still sorry. I betrayed your trust.”

Dick reached out and touched Wally’s elbow. It felt… intimate. Even though it was the sort of gesture they’d shared countless times over the course of their friendship. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.”

Dick was looking pretty again, lit up by the sunset streaming in through his windows. His hand, touching Wally’s skin, was warm. His face was still unreadable. If Wally kept staring at him, he was going to give himself away.

He thrust the flowers at Dick. “Here, take these.”

Dick took the flowers. He set them on the kitchen counter and dug out a vase, filled it with water, and as he was trimming the stems, he spoke. “I’m sorry too. I haven’t been a good friend lately. I’ve been… working through things. I’m in therapy.”

“That’s good,” Wally said. “I’m proud of you.”

Dick arranged the cut flowers into the vase and, once he was satisfied with the result, set it in the center of his kitchen table. He looked at Wally. “I asked you to come here for a reason.”

That sounded a little foreboding, but Wally rolled with it. “Okay.”

“Sit down,” Dick requested, pulling out a chair for Wally. Wally sat. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m okay.”

Dick took the other seat at his table, across from Wally. He didn’t mince words. “You know I’ve been a wreck lately.”

“You’ve been grieving,” Wally countered. He wasn’t going to let Dick beat himself up over his perfectly normal response to the loss of a loved one.

“I haven’t had the energy to put into anything else. Not work, not fighting crime, not even taking care of myself. Definitely not my relationships.” Dick wasn’t making eye contact, and it took a second for Wally to figure out what he was staring at: the flowers. Hopefully that meant he liked them.

Dick finally met Wally’s gaze. His blue eyes were piercing, and tonight, more than ever before, it felt like he was staring into Wally’s soul. Or into his heart.

Dick continued speaking, breaking the spell Wally hadn’t realized he’d been under. How was it possible that Dick could make him feel like this without even trying? How could he make Wally feel if he did try? (This was something Wally had thought about extensively.) “But I’ve been doing better now. Not good, but better. And I’ve been thinking about you.”

And then Dick reached across the table and took Wally’s hand. He turned it over, so Wally’s palm was facing up, and laced their fingers together. He did this slowly, deliberately, watching Wally’s face for his reaction. Wally hoped he wasn’t blushing. He was a grown adult; he shouldn’t be blushing just because his crush held his hand. That was middle school shit.

But this was Dick Grayson he was talking about. So maybe Wally had an excuse.

“You were there for me more than anyone.” Dick’s tone was softer, still serious but less stoic. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you to leave me alone. You didn’t believe me when I said I was fine.”

Wally was about to open his mouth to defend himself, but Dick preempted him. “I’m glad you didn’t. I need someone to call me on my bullshit.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Friends. Wally’s reminder to himself. That was all he and Dick were, regardless of how Wally felt, sitting here in Dick’s apartment, talking to him like this. It wouldn’t be the first time Wally had read too deep into their relationship. Dick was always saying or doing things that made Wally do an emotional double take. Flirty comments. Lingering touches. Like Dick’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Dick said.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Dick shook his head. “It’s not okay. You deserve an explanation.” He looked down at the flowers again, and then at their joined hands. His thumb stroked Wally’s knuckles. Wally could barely breathe. “At first, I was avoiding you because I was mad at you. But after a few weeks I realized that wasn’t the reason anymore. I was feeling things that I wasn’t ready to feel. But now I know…”

Dick looked torn between a frown and a smile when he met Wally’s eyes again. “I’m supposed to be a detective. I think I might have missed some pretty obvious clues.”

Wally felt like he was missing half the context for this conversation. “About what?”

“The first time you came here after Jason died.” Wally’s heart thudded in his chest. He fought to keep his face impassive. He wasn’t anywhere near as good at it as Dick was. “You brought flowers.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was weird. You seemed confused when I mentioned Jason.” The flash of a smirk. Wally hadn’t seen that, that spark of humor in Dick’s eyes, in a long time either. It was even worth what Dick said next. “And people don’t typically bring red roses to give their condolences.”

Wally said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He didn’t want to incriminate himself. Although it was looking like he’d done that already.

“Why did you come here that day?” Dick asked. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was a question that demanded an answer.

“Dick…”

Dick didn’t let Wally continue. Like he knew the next words out of Wally’s mouth would be an excuse. “Did you know? Did you know Jason was dead? Or did you just go along with it?”

Wally couldn’t lie to Dick. Not only would Dick most likely see right through it, but Wally didn’t want to lie to him. “I went along with it.”

“Why?”

Wally was definitely red now. This wasn’t what he’d expected when Dick had asked him to come over. He’d expected to apologize, not to be exposed.

What was he worried about, though, realistically? It seemed like Dick already knew Wally had feelings for him. And he didn’t seem upset about it. He was holding Wally’s hand through it.

It wasn’t going to ruin their friendship if Wally confessed. That was what Dick was trying to communicate to him. It might make things a little awkward in the short term, but Wally could handle awkward. Joining the Justice League as Barry’s replacement? That had been awkward. This was nothing.

At least, that was what Wally told himself as he mentally prepared for what he was about to do.

“It wasn’t the right time,” he told Dick.

“For what?” Dick prompted.

Wally took a deep breath. “For me to tell you I had feelings for you.”

Dick didn’t look like he was surprised. He didn’t look like he was upset, either. He was wearing his Batman Face again. “How long?”

“I first realized it right before I became the Flash,” Wally explained. “I didn’t tell you then because we were both going through shit. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. You were always in one. But once I started to feel like I had this Flash thing handled, and the Justice League had accepted me, you were single, and I thought I might be ready, and you might be too. It seemed like things were good between you and Bruce. And you and Jason. And you were doing great as Nightwing. But I got there, and you were crying, and when I found out why, I couldn’t tell you the truth. You needed me, but not like that.”

At the mention of Jason, Dick had frowned and looked away. Wally gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry,” Wally said. Their third apology of the evening. When Dick looked at him, confused, Wally elaborated, “You’re working on yourself. You don’t need this.”

Dick’s frown melted away. He leaned forward. “Maybe not. But I need you.”

“You have me,” Wally promised. “You always have me.”

“Do you still have feelings for me, Wally?”

“Yes.”

The silence between them hardly lasted a second, but Wally felt like he was experiencing it in bullet time. It stretched on forever, until Dick said, “I have feelings for you.”

Half of Wally had been expecting it. The invitation to Dick’s apartment, the hand-holding, the leading questions, it all added up. But half of him never thought he’d hear Dick say those words. Not to him.

Wally tried to remain practical, even though all he wanted to do was surge forward across the table and kiss Dick’s lights out like he’d dreamed of doing for years. It wasn’t easy. Usually Wally relied on other people – including Dick – to be the practical ones. But right now Dick was the one who was grieving, and Wally had to step up.

“We don’t have to do anything about it,” Wally assured Dick. “I can wait.” He’d been waiting, and he would wait even longer. He would wait forever.

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I want to do whatever’s best for you.”

“Kiss me,” Dick told Wally. “Please.”

Well, at least no one could say Wally hadn’t tried. He couldn’t say no to a direct request. But first things first…

In the blink of an eye, Wally had Dick on his feet, standing next to the kitchen table instead of leaning uncomfortably across it. Wally had spent the past three-plus years imagining this moment; now that it was finally about to happen, he was going to do it right. He was holding Dick in his arms, and when he brought their mouths together, it felt like emerging from underwater and taking a breath of fresh air.

Dick’s lips were as soft as they looked, in stark contrast to the firmness of his body pressed up against Wally. Dick twined his arms around Wally’s neck, one hand splayed out between Wally’s shoulder blades and one buried in Wally’s hair. He was clinging to Wally like a lifeline, and Wally sank into him, and parted his lips, and felt Dick’s tongue venture into his mouth, and let out a sound Wally would later deny making.

Wally’s head was spinning. Kissing Dick like this, holding him like this, it was as exhilarating as running at top speed. It was as monumental as being struck by lightning in Barry’s apartment. Wally had to break away. He was breathing heavily, which wasn’t something that happened to Wally often, and he leaned his forehead against Dick’s and grinned.

“Wow,” he announced.

Dick grinned back at him. He was just as beautiful up close. His skin just as flawless, his eyes just as bright blinding blue. Wally reached up to trace one of Dick’s cheekbones, and then his jaw. He was perfect.

“What?” Dick asked, his warm breath ghosting across Wally’s face.

“Look at you,” Wally said incredulously.

Dick’s smile went soft, and he kissed Wally again, tilting his head to get a better angle. Feeling bold, Wally slid his hands under the hem of Dick’s shirt, feeling more of Dick’s warm skin, and Dick arched his back encouragingly, lifted his arms, and Wally realized that was his cue to take Dick’s shirt off, so he did, again at super speed to minimize the amount of time he and Dick would spend not kissing.

Dick laughed into Wally’s mouth. That laugh. That might have been what Wally had missed the most. Wally ran his hands over Dick’s back, over his chest, his stomach. Muscles Dick had built and maintained through years of hard work and dedication, no superpowers involved.

Wally could have stayed there, making out with a shirtless Dick Grayson, for the rest of his life, but Dick had other ideas. Without breaking the kiss, he started leading Wally in the direction of the bedroom.

Wally stopped them in the doorway. It wasn’t that he didn’t like where this was going. He liked it a lot. But Dick was still in mourning. He’d only been in therapy a short while. It hadn’t even been a year since Jason’s death.

Wally wanted this. But he didn’t want to be Dick’s emotional rebound. He needed to know that Dick wanted this too. That Dick wanted him.

“Hey,” he said, voice already rough from kissing. “Are you sure about this?”

“Completely,” Dick told him earnestly. And Wally hadn’t gotten a good look at him without his shirt on yet, not that he hadn’t already known what Dick looked like shirtless.

Dick looked hot. Of course he did. But Wally also noted that Dick wasn’t sporting any fresh injuries. A few sickly-green bruises well on their way to healing and some scars that looked recent, but that was all. No stitches, no gauze. Wally probably paid even more attention to that than he did to Dick’s six-pack.

Wally reminded himself to focus. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.”

Dick hadn’t released his hold on Wally. The hand in his hair came down to frame Wally’s face. It was a gentle, intimate touch. Wally leaned into it. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Dick’s palm, and Dick smiled at him softly. “I could never regret you,” Dick said, nearly a whisper. “But if you don’t want to, we won’t.”

“I want to,” Wally told him, his desire bleeding into his tone, making his voice break. He couldn’t hold it back. He needed Dick to know that this wasn’t a matter of Wally not wanting him. “I just don’t think it’s a good time for you right now, D.”

“I can’t keep waiting for the perfect time, Walls. There’s never gonna be one.” Dick brought their foreheads together again and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and this close he could probably smell Wally’s shampoo, his aftershave, the last traces of it lingering at the end of the day. “Bad things are always gonna happen. It’s not gonna make me want you any less. Please. Let me have this.” His eyes blinked back open, and he added, “Only if you want to.”

Wally kissed him. He felt Dick exhale. “I want you,” he said. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

This time, when Dick took his hand and led him into the bedroom, Wally let him. He stripped off his shirt and Dick pulled him close, drinking him in. Wally paid close attention to where Dick’s eyes lingered: on his shoulders, where the sun hit Wally the most directly and his freckles were the most concentrated. On his trim waist; Wally didn’t have a classic superhero build. He was fit, but built more for speed than strength. On the trail of red hair (yes, the carpet matched the drapes) disappearing below the waistline of Wally’s jeans.

Dick looked up and met Wally’s gaze as he reached for Wally’s belt, slow enough that even a regular person, without Wally’s speed, could have stopped him or said something. Wally didn’t. He didn’t want to. He let Dick remove his belt, and then unbutton and unzip his jeans. Wally stepped out of them, and when Dick saw his underwear – red with little lightning bolts on them; Wally hadn’t known he was getting laid today – he laughed again, bright and loud.

“Wally West, do you buy your own merch?” Dick asked, like the answer wasn’t obvious.

“Trust me,” Wally said, willing to endure a little embarrassment for that laugh, “This isn’t the worst-case scenario. I could have been wearing my Nightwing undies.”

Yep, there it was. That laugh, like a siren song. Wally beamed. “Show me yours, then, if mine are so funny,” he challenged.

With a wicked glint in his eye, Dick took off his own belt and slid out of his jeans, wiggling his hips a little in a way Wally knew was deliberate. (And he appreciated it. And was already brainstorming how he was going to propose the idea of Dick doing a striptease for him. Maybe if Wally promised to show him his vibrating trick in return…)

Once they were both in their underwear, sporting telltale bulges – Dick’s plain white briefs left nothing to the imagination – Dick wrapped his arms around Wally’s neck again to pull him down onto the bed and into another kiss. They rolled around until Dick ended up on top, his strong arms propping him up, his thighs straddling Wally. He trailed a finger up Wally’s neck, then followed it with his tongue, and Wally shivered, his grip on Dick’s waist tightening. Dick lowered his head to whisper in Wally’s ear.

“How fast do you heal from a hickey, West?” he asked.

“They’ll be gone by morning,” Wally told him, “But they’ll stick around for a while tonight so you can admire your handiwork.”

“Excellent.” Dick descended on Wally’s shoulders, near the base of his neck, and got to work with a dedicated precision, the sort of focus Wally had only ever seen Dick apply to his superhero work. While he squirmed under Dick’s ministrations, Wally let his hands wander down Dick’s back, fingers trailing along his spine. Dick bit down on Wally’s throat and Wally let out a surprised, “Oh!” Dick soothed the spot with his tongue, and then he did it again.

Since Dick seemed to be having the time of his life, Wally figured now was his chance to finally get the answer to one of life’s greatest mysteries. (One of his life’s greatest mysteries, anyway.) He reached down and shamelessly groped Dick’s ass and yes, mystery solved, it was as firm as it looked.

Wally pushed down, wanting more contact, wanting to feel Dick everywhere, and Dick got the picture and started rolling his hips. Wally was fully hard by now, and he could feel that Dick was in a similar state.

As Dick continued his quest to leave his mark all over Wally – biting and sucking hickeys into his neck, his chest, his shoulders – Wally lost himself in the friction of Dick’s cock grinding against his through the thin layers of their underwear. When not even that was enough, Wally slipped his hands past the elastic waistband of Dick’s briefs.

Dick grazed his teeth over Wally’s left nipple and Wally gasped. Wally pulled Dick’s underwear down and Dick maneuvered out of them and then spread his legs, wide enough to remind Wally that he was about to have sex with a trained gymnast, wide enough that Wally daringly let one of his thumbs rub up against Dick’s hole. Dick laved his tongue over Wally’s right nipple and reached down to palm Wally’s dick through his Flash-printed boxer briefs.

“Take these off,” Dick requested. Wally agreed. At super speed again, Wally removed the last scrap of clothing between them and Dick greedily wrapped his hand around the base of Wally’s cock and gave it a few experimental strokes. He slipped out of Wally’s grasp to slide down Wally’s body and suck marks into his stomach while Wally carded his fingers through Dick’s curls.

Dick bypassed Wally’s cock to sink his teeth into Wally’s inner thigh, and Wally yelped. Dick did the same to Wally’s other thigh. Wally was forced to think about where he wanted that mouth.

Like he’d read Wally’s mind, Dick lifted his head to lap at the leaking slit of Wally’s cock. He hummed like he liked the taste. He wrapped his lips around the head, took inch by inch of him until Wally was fully enveloped.

Wally realized as pleasure started building low in his gut that this experience was going to be over very quickly if he kept letting Dick do whatever he wanted, and while that wouldn’t necessarily be the end of the world – except for Dick torturing him with “Fastest Man Alive” jokes for years to come – Wally did want to make this, their first time, last. So he figured they should probably get to the main event.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “I’ll do anything.”

Dick’s answer came immediately, as he lifted his head off Wally’s spit-slick cock: “Fuck me, Wally.”

God. Yes. “Do you have condoms? Lube?”

Dick crawled across the bed to reach into his nightstand drawer, withdrawing lube and a condom and brandishing both items for Wally to see. Wally took them from him, and Dick turned over and laid down on his back. Wally set the condom aside for the time being, kept the lube, and kissed Dick on the mouth, sloppy, with plenty of tongue.

Wally ran his free hand all over Dick, making the most of the fact that he finally had permission to touch. All that soft, warm skin, the planes and ridges of Dick’s body, muscles that tensed under Wally’s fingers. Wally nudged Dick’s legs apart and Dick spread them eagerly. He was gazing at Wally through half-lidded eyes and he looked like lust personified. His cock strained up toward his stomach. Wally took him in hand and Dick arched into his grip.

Wally’s touch was experimental, exploratory; he wasn’t trying to get Dick anywhere. He just wanted to feel him. He kissed Dick again, more purposefully this time, as he stroked him. Dick moaned into Wally’s mouth. Wally released him and broke the kiss, and Dick let out a noise of complaint, but when he saw Wally start to slick up his fingers, his expression morphed from disappointment to interest.

“How do you want me?” Dick asked.

“Wanna see your pretty face,” Wally told him. Dick smiled, spread his legs farther.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. He lifted his legs to wrap them around Wally’s back. His body was bent fully in half and he made it look easy.

“Done this before?” Wally double-checked. He’d only done this with women, but from his end, the process was mostly the same.

Dick smirked. “I dated Kory. I’ve been pegged.”

Fair. “Just making sure.”

“Done it to myself too,” Dick added. “Sometimes thinking about you.”

The image of Dick, in bed, working himself open and then fucking himself on a dildo, pretending it was Wally’s cock, was too hot to handle. Wally filed it away for later consideration and declared, “You’re a menace.” Dick hummed in agreement.

Wally traced one slick finger around Dick’s hole, watched as Dick’s eyes fluttered shut. One of Dick’s hands was in Wally’s hair again, the other resting on the pillow beside his head. He already looked blissful.

“You’re so beautiful, Grayson,” Wally whispered. He knew he was starting to sound like a broken record. Dick was just going to have to get used to it. Wally didn’t plan on shutting up about how gorgeous he was any time soon.

Dick opened his eyes and slowly swept his gaze over Wally’s figure. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself, West.” He drew Wally in for a kiss, and Wally took the opportunity to slide his finger into Dick, meeting only slight resistance. Dick’s tongue delved into Wally’s mouth, marking it like it belonged to him, same as he’d done to the rest of Wally, and Wally started stretching Dick open, working his finger in and out, making room for another, pausing only to add more lube.

When Wally brushed against the right spot inside him, Dick rewarded him with a moan and ran his nails over Wally’s scalp, down his neck. He lifted his other arm off the bed to wrap it around Wally’s shoulders, using the additional leverage to get a better angle. Wally added a third finger and Dick broke the kiss to tilt his head back and moan again.

Dick was performing. Wally was aware of it. He was enjoying the performance. But as he opened Dick up to receive him, Wally hoped he’d be able to get Dick to just relax and enjoy himself.

“Ready?” Wally asked once Dick felt loose enough, tearing the condom packet open with his teeth.

“Mhm,” Dick confirmed. Wally slid the condom down over his cock and slicked himself up. He recaptured Dick in a searing kiss as he pushed in, just the head at first, then inch by inch, working himself into Dick’s hole with little thrusts, dying inside at all the tight, wet heat surrounding him until he was buried in Dick to the hilt.

Wally stayed motionless for a moment, overwhelmed. One of his arms was propping him up; his free hand grabbed onto Dick’s ass, his fingers finding the spot where they were joined together.

Wally couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like a dream. He pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed back in, a slow, slick slide. Dick was clinging to him. His skin felt like it was burning up, it was so hot where he was pressed up against Wally. Wally fucked him slowly, lazily, savoring every second.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this to you,” Dick gasped, “But go faster.”

As much as Wally wanted to do anything Dick asked of him, he wasn’t going to rush toward the finish line. This wasn’t a race. “I wanna take my time with you,” he said.

“I wanna come sometime this century,” Dick complained.

Wally kissed the corner of his mouth. “Let me take care of you.”

Dick gave in. He let Wally continue to set the pace and, after a time, he finally relaxed. When noises spilled out of his lips, they weren’t carefully choreographed moans; instead they were spontaneous little exhales, the occasional “ah,” something close to a whine when Wally drove in deep.

For a while, every time Wally heard Dick’s breath coming faster and felt Dick’s fingernails digging into his skin, Wally stopped, slowed down, dragged Dick back from the edge, eliciting another whine – mixed desperation and complaint – from Dick. Wally repeated this at least three times before Dick finally begged, “Wally, please…”

Wally smiled, kissed the side of Dick’s jaw, picked up the pace just enough. He took Dick into his hand and jerked him off efficiently, feeling under his lips the way Dick gasped and then cried out as he came across his own stomach. Dick clenched around Wally’s cock and Wally buried his face in Dick’s neck and followed him, trying to focus on stroking Dick through his orgasm even as his own hit him like a freight train.

Wally pulled out, limbs feeling wobbly. He cleaned Dick’s stomach off and tossed the tissue and used condom in the trash before he allowed himself to collapse, dramatically, next to Dick.

Dick smiled, reached out and traced a line between the hickeys he’d left on Wally’s neck, shoulders, and chest. The path his finger took left a trail of pleasant warmth behind. “Will you stay the night? You know I have to leave, but I want you to be here when I come back,” Dick said into the silence, making eye contact with Wally. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure how Wally would answer. That wouldn’t do.

“Of course I’ll stay,” Wally told him, planting a quick kiss on Dick’s lips. “But I need you to do something for me too.”

“You want me to take better care of myself.”

“That’s a given. I wanna take you on a date.”

Dick snuggled in closer to Wally, fitting one arm loosely around Wally’s waist. He gave Wally another kiss. “Hopefully more than one,” he said.

“Maybe we’ll go on the first one and you’ll realize I suck,” Wally countered, one of his jokes that wasn’t a joke, not really.

“If I was gonna realize you suck, it would’ve happened by now.” Another kiss, longer and slower this time. “Yes, Wally, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Wally’s heart soared. He resumed the kiss, and he and Dick stayed that way, curled up together in Dick’s bed, until Dick mentioned that he needed to take a shower, a mission Wally obviously accompanied him on (and distracted him the whole time, which Dick tolerated). Afterward, Dick changed into his Nightwing suit. He glanced at Wally thoughtfully. “Do you really have Nightwing underwear?” he asked.

Wally grinned. “Hell yeah I do. Want me to wear them next time?”

“Sure. Want me to take them off with my teeth?” Dick flashed a grin of his own, strapping his escrima sticks to his back. All dressed up in black-and-blue skin-tight kevlar, offering to take Wally’s underwear off with his teeth? Wally didn’t stand a chance.

“Obviously,” he said.

Dick crossed the room to give him one last kiss before donning his domino mask. “Be safe out there,” Wally reminded him.

“Just for you, sweetheart,” Dick teased, tapping Wally on the nose before climbing out of his apartment through the window.

Wally watched him leave, then settled back into Dick’s bed, hopefully to get some sleep and not stay up all night worrying.

His concerns for Dick’s well-being hadn’t disappeared over a single evening of lovemaking. He was reassured by all the signs that Dick was taking better care of himself, especially that Dick was going to therapy. Dick deserved to be happy. Wally would always believe that. And Wally would be there for him no matter what, whether or not this new thing between them worked out.

(He really hoped it did.)