Chapter Text
“And then you kept skating!?”
Wally sounds offended, as if he was the one with the bleeding gash on the side of his head. He means well, Dick knows that, but he can’t help but sigh in exasperation at Wally sounding like his mother.
”Yeah, but it was only for a while.” Dick reasoned, pausing to pull away from the washcloth dabbing and wiping at the half-dry blood. “It’s not even bleeding anymore, dude.”
Wally grumbled something about Dick being impossible under his breath, grabbing him and forcefully holding him in place with one hand, as he uses the other to reach around and gently push some of Dick’s bangs out of the way and tuck them behind his ear. It’s a needlessly sweet moment, and if Dick wasn’t busy bickering, he’d swat him away and call him a sap.
”It’s all matted in your hair.” Wally comments. He sounds more unamused than anything.
“Why do you care so much? Yeah, I didn’t patch it up. I’ve been through worse injuries without bothering to clean them off.”
”Because it’s in your hair and that’s gross, dude! What would your police friends think if you showed up to work with dried blood in your hair?”
”Besides,” He continues, working the tangles out and away from the cut, “You got picked for that international competition up in Boston. I doubt the judges would appreciate you showing up with an injury before you even step out into the rink.”
Dick groans. “Don’t remind me.”
ISU. Dick had no idea what it stood for, but he was filled with dread regardless at the mention of the championships they held. He’d been competing for a few months now, making excuses to disappear for a couple days or weeks at a time to hop around the globe and skate. It had earned him a couple shiny new prizes.
In terms of pressure, though, he wanted to sink through the floor. Competing nationally was one thing—Dick lived for big crowds—But international? Horrible. Performing with the weight of an entire country on you is a lot. And it’s only going to get worse. In three days, Dick was off to the grand finals in Boston. If he did good enough in the finals for international, Dick could do anything. He might even qualify for the Olympics, not that he ever would.
Wally was going too, that a given. He’d gone with Dick to every competition for years. Underground, almost certainly illegal local competitions, state championships, nationals, international, he was there. Cheering Dick on. He’d even keep company during practice too, making sure spirits stayed high.
Laughing softly, Wally pauses his fussing to rake his hand through the rest of Dick’s hair. “Geez, dude. You’re never this nervous.”
”I’m not nervous.”
”You always bite your nails like that when you’re nervous.”
“Dick pulls his hand away from his mouth, glancing down at the broken, short nails on both hands. He didn’t even notice he did that.
“You look at the floor a lot too, and you get super restless.” Wally counts the habits on his figures, listing them off until Dick cuts him off.
“I really need to hang out with you less, Walls.”
”You can’t do that.” He rolls his eyes, returning to cleaning off the cut. “Who else would sneak into your room and tend to your scratches, at our age, in the middle of the night?”
Dick doesn’t reply, leaning a little into Wally’s hand and letting him get the last of the blood untangled from his hair and under a bandage.
”How’d you get the cut, anyway?”
”Practice.” He answers shortly. “I, uh… Jason walked in on me and I slipped.”
”Jason!?” Wally sits up, nearly waking someone up with how loud he speaks. “Jason, as in your brother?”
Neither of them know any other Jasons who would walk into Dick ice skating late into the night. Dick nods.
“I kinda freaked out and yelled at him. But he didn’t yell back, so…I guess it wasn’t as bad as I imagined.”
”Well, what did you imagine?”
”A lot of yelling.” Dick fidgets with his hands. “Everyone would be pissed, they’d think I didn’t trust them enough to let them know, or something. Bruce would find some kind of excuse to make me stop, and then I’d hate him again, and everything just unravels from there.”
”But now everything’s just flipped upside down. Jason didn’t even punch me for information, and that’s his whole thing! He just took it when I tried kicking him out, and…” He trails off suddenly, glancing at the floor. Wally leans forward.
”aaand?”
”…And he said I was good. He said I was a good skater before he left.”
it’s quiet for a moment, and Dick slowly shifts on the edge of his bed to pull the covers out from where they’re neatly tucked, thinking.
“I think I am a little nervous about that contest.
…Do you wanna stay over tonight?”
Wally’s already nodding before the sentence is over, smiling. Before Dick can react, he’s tackled onto his side by Wally crashing into him. They both fall back onto the bed in a fit of laughter, and Dick can barely even reach his lamp to turn it off with Wally wrapping himself around his waist. When he finally does, they’re still laughing.
”Night, Walls.”
“G’night.”
In the darkness of the night, Dick hears the contentment in his friend’s voice without seeing it. That’s okay. He settles down quietly, and wonders for a moment, if he stayed awake long enough then he would hear Wally’s heartbeat slow against his back before he fell asleep. He doesn’t need to see it, he feels it just as much as every other unsaid word and moment lived in shadow or out of everyone’s reach. Everything out of view still manages to exist, even if proof of it doesn’t.
Maybe they wouldn’t need to hide so much eventually. Maybe they could leave the lights on a little longer, linger just an inch closer into each others’ space, enter through the front door past nine. Or they were stuck sneaking through windows like teenagers and walking in opposite directions and holding hands under tablecloths and turning the lights off forever. That’s okay too. So long as it’s him.
Dick feels Wally’s heart slow, echoing from one body into the next.
So long as it’s him.
——
Boston is colder than Dick remembers. It’s a different kind of cold than home. Gotham’s cold sinks into your bones, holds tight to your skin and stains you until its inescapable no matter what you wear and where you go. Gotham is cold like streetlights left in the snow. Boston is cold like the iced coffee that Dick wraps his gloved hand around. Cold, yes, but rewarding in a way that Gotham isn’t. Hopeful in a way he hasn’t felt in a while.
“I really should’ve gotten something else.” Dick takes a sip from his coffee and shudders softly when it goes down his throat.
Wally sticks his tongue out at him, triumphantly taking a sip from his hot chocolate as the steam rises high up into the gray morning sky. “Can’t relate.”
”I’m smacking that out of your hands.”
”If you do that, I’m pushing you into Gotham bay and leaving you there.”
Dick frowns, snatching the drink out of Wally’s hands, sipping it, and handing it back. In return, Wally pushes his arm so the coffee spills over a bit onto Dick’s gloves. They both laugh and Dick picks up his pace a little.
“I’m never buying you anything ever again.” Dick says in feigned irritation, shifting with the weight of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late. Let’s get to that rink.”
The two both scamper off to the venue which the finals are being held in, which earns them a few strange glances, but they hardly care. The building is absolutely huge, covered in windows and concrete and noise and people that reminds Dick that he's about to walk into an international championship.
There’s a separate entrance for the skaters, and Dick freezes for a split second. Wally grabs him by both shoulders and shakes him lightly.
”you’re gonna do awesome, dude. I know it.”
Instead of rolling his eyes like normal, Dick just smiles. “Yeah, you tell me that every time. But thanks, Walls.”
Wally lets go and holds up a thumbs-up, watching as Dick takes a deep breath and turns to the door.
——
Sometimes, skating feels more intense than any battle. Dick doesn’t know if the burning feeling in his chest every time he steps out onto the ice is a pleasant feeling, but sometimes he thinks it makes him skate better. The constant scratching sound under him, the crowd, the lights, the cold wind against the back of his neck when Dick surges forward and into the air, it sucks any and all thoughts out from his mind and melts the world away. Music plays from a speaker near the top of the stands, something from the 80s, he thinks. He’s too lost in it all to think about that. Dick holds his arms out, darting to the center and spinning. That earns a cheer from the crowd. He bursts back out again, nervousness melting away, and lets himself get lost in the routine.
People cheer left and right when Dick lands his axel. it's like they don't even care that his landing was shaky. His mistakes barely even matter, not put against the points he's racking up. Sweat falls down his face when he finally slides onto his knees. The cheering drowns out the music, they drown out the whole world. His limbs ache from the strain, but it's a good kind of ache.
It’s over before he knows it, and Dick gives his bows on the ice and slides over the gate. It didn’t feel like a grand finale, that felt like every other routine he’d performed this year. It felt fun. Wally slams into him before he can process anything, jumping up and down in excitement.
”Dude! That was awesome. You’re awesome. You crushed it!”
”…huh? Did I?” Dick asks breathlessly, letting Wally half-hold him up in a hug while he catches his breath.
”yeah! Yeah, you did! That’s at least a bronze, man. It’s gotta be.”
The thought of doing so well in an international competition makes Dick feel even more dizzy than he already is. A moment passes, and the crowd suddenly loses their mind. The score must be out. Dick feels his heart race and shudder, slowly turning around.
220.24. Second place.
Wally practically screams. "Oh my god! Dude, dude are you seeing this!? Dick-"
He pauses when Dick's legs give out against him. It takes a while for Dick to even form words.
"...Holy shit."
"Yeah, man." Wally pulls Dick closer and lets him lean on his side. "Holy shit."
----
When they finally arrive back home, Dick feels like he could sleep for a week. And that's exactly what he does, save for patrols to keep appearances with the family. After one patrol, Dick climbs the fire escape and stumbles into his apartment right as dawn approaches. He's more than a little irritated that it went on longer than anticipated, leaving Dick without any time to skate, but he thinks maybe it's a good thing when the doorbell rings. Dick struggles his suit off and into a shirt and shorts, and opens the door.
A letter is the last thing he expects to see. Especially not one with a perfectly valid return address and no signs of being involved with vigilante work. Warily, he opens it.
Dick feels like his legs might give out again when he sees the words "United States Olympic and Paralympic Committee" On the top of the paper inside.