Archive of Our Own

Wally and Dick are out drinking to celebrate Wally’s twenty-one-and-one-sixth birthday. At least, that’s how they justify it to anyone who questions them. Dick’s nineteen-and-a-half birthday party at Sea World was killer.

Dick had told Wally the day he turned twenty-one for real that since Wally can’t get drunk due to his speedster metabolism, it’s only fair that his legal drinking eligibility be transferred over to Dick. Even though they both know that’s never stopped him from drinking before.

“I’m practicing for my midlife crisis,” he always says. And then parties himself into oblivion. It’s even less healthy than it sounds, and Wally’s pretty sure he’d rather Dick go back to his usual way of coping, which consists of punching hard and flying high.

Ever since Jason died, Wally’s sensed a snapped hinge somewhere in the center of Dick’s being. It’s a concern, but a manageable one as far as he knows. So he lets Dick mourn however he needs to and keeps an eye on him through it all. It’s an efficient system.

Their domain for the night is some bar in Palo Alto, and it’s nice to see Dick relaxed for once. Even if the fact that this Dick only comes out on days when he’s either wasted or exhausted is reason for concern. But he lets the guy have his fun.

Wally returns from the restroom where he’d been cleaning spilled soda off his shirt, and right away he’s scouting for black hair and blue eyes. Last he saw Dick a few minutes ago, he was macking on some nameless, personality-less guy against a potted plant. His eyes scan the area, but Dick is nowhere in sight.

He’d better not be doing another strip-tease like last time he got out of control. Wally will never get that image out of his head for as long as he lives.

He takes a seat at the bar and orders a beer, eyes still roaming until finally he finds him. Dick is across the room on one of the couches and—lo and behold—the same dude from earlier is nibbling on his ear. Dick’s grinning, talking about whatever it is they’re using as verbal foreplay. So Wally sips at his beer, sends Dick a mental high-five, and leaves them to it.

In the meantime, Wally resigns himself to his new role as Third Wheel/Chaperone Extraordinaire. In addition to his already-earned titles of Designated Driver and The Closest Thing We’ve Got To An Adult Here Even Though I’m Wearing A Sonic The Hedgehog Shirt And Am Pretty Much The Bottom Of The Barrel When It Comes To Responsibility.

Every few minutes he glances back over to make sure Dick hasn’t wandered off or done something stupid. He ends up making idle conversation with the bartender about her Flash nose ring which is, quite frankly, awesome and totally flattering. Maybe Artemis would like one of those for Christmas...

The bartender is explaining the fickleness of nose ring prices—a truly shocking and fascinating subject—and Wally’s eyes once again dart back to where Dick is as he goes to take another drink of beer. Then he pauses, bottle halfway to his mouth. Furrows his eyebrows. Does a double-take.

Nothing much has changed except that now Dick and Mr. Hookup are making out against the wall. He’s got his hands in Dick’s hair as he pins him to the crappy wallpaper, and the age-old “leave room for Jesus” rule seems to have flown out the window. But that’s not what catches Wally’s attention.

It’s the glazed look in Dick’s eyes. It’s the way he wobbles, even while standing still. Wally has never once seen Dick Grayson uncoordinated, even on nights like this. Balance is in his blood, as is the bat rule to never let your guard down. He’s abandoned both, and it’s that which makes uncertainty coil in Wally’s gut.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” the man purrs into Dick’s ear, and Wally can tell that—unlike Dick—he is completely sober. He’s got a grip on Dick’s arm and pulls him close, wrapping an arm around him possessively like a python clinging to its prey. He starts leading him toward the exit, while Dick just...goes.

He doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t protest. Doesn’t even look like he heard him. He stumbles until the guy is the only thing holding him up now, which sends all kinds of creepy vibes swirling in the energy between them.

Red flags explode in Wally’s head, and before he knows it he’s already abandoned his beer and cuts through the crowd, eyes locked on Dick and the asshole who’s still leading him toward the door. Wally allows some superspeed to trickle into his movements, and eventually he’s close enough to pick out the sound of Dick mumbling.

“No, I gotta...gotta get m’friend…” he slurs, barely coherent.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll take care of you.” It’s more demand than reassurance—a slimy, venomous demand.

“Dick?” Wally says, catching up to the pair. He takes Dick by the arm, not-so-subtly pulling him away from Mr. Hookup, who shall now be referred to as Asshole from this point on, which is far more fitting. “You okay?”

Asshole looks Wally up and down, not even attempting to hide his sneer. “You his boyfriend?”

“No, and neither are you.”

Then the guy smiles, feigning innocence. He tightens his arm around Dick. Slimy bastard. The way he looks at Dick makes Wally want to vomit. “We were just heading back to my place. Don’t worry, he’s in very good hands.”

But Dick’s face says otherwise. He’s clearly out of it, and up close his skin is so much paler than it’s supposed to be, with a hint of a green undertone. He’s been drugged—that much is obvious.

“Yeah, no. He’s obviously in no condition to give consent right now, so if you wouldn’t mind—” He tugs Dick closer to him.

The man’s charming exterior has melted off like a shed skin, and his eyes radiate fury. “What the fuck is your problem? We’re just having a little fun.” His sick grins broadens as his eyes rake over Dick’s body, and something in Wally snaps.

He clenches his jaw and steps forward until his face is inches in front of the other man’s. His glare could melt ice caps as he speaks through his teeth, “You have five seconds to take your hands off of him, or I will throw you across this room so fast your brain flies out of your skull.”

Something in Wally’s expression must convince the guy that he means business, because after a tense moment he backs off. He drops his arm from around Dick and glares daggers at Wally. “Whatever. Keep him. Fucking cockblock,” he mutters as he storms away.

Wally doesn’t follow him. He already snatched his wallet during their stare-down, so he’ll just report him to the police later tonight when he knows Dick is okay. He’ll be dealt with in due time—but for now, Dick is the priority. He’s leaning against Wally’s shoulder, which supports nearly all of his weight as he slumps. He’s so out of it.

“Dick,” Wally says, shaking him a little. “You with me, man?”

Dick blinks slowly. “Mm. Dizzy.”

“Here, we’ll go outside, okay? Come on.” He guides Dick to the exit, and Dick shivers when the crisp air hits his skin. His feet shuffle along the sidewalk, and Wally helps him sit on the curb before settling beside him.

Wally’s handled situations similar to this more than enough times in the past; mainly team missions with baddies who love to play around with new drugs and toxins like toddlers discovering Play-Doh. Roofie is pretty low risk compared to others Dick’s gotten hit with, plus he’s built up a tolerance for these sort of things.

Once Dick’s lucid enough to make the walk, Wally will take him back to the car. He’ll make him stay at his and Artemis’ apartment tonight so he can watch over him until the drug’s run its course, and everything will be fine. Mostly fine.

Wally forces back mental images of what might have happened had he not noticed something was amiss and gotten involved before it was too late.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Dick mumbles some vowels, but that’s about it. His eyes are closed and he’s got his head pillowed on Wally’s shoulder. Wally bites his lip.

“All right, hang tight.” He’s gone for less than a second so that Dick is barely jostled and returns to the exact same spot, now holding a bottle of water. He left a few bills on the drug store counter, so technically it’s not stealing.

He unscrews the cap and presses the bottle into Dick’s palm until his fingers curl around it. “Drink all of this, okay? Then I’ll take you back to the car and we’ll go back to my place.”

Dick nods jerkily and somehow gets the bottle to his lips. When he lifts his chin Wally sees hickies blooming on his neck, and nausea curdles his stomach. “I should have pummeled that guy to a pulp,” he says, anger boiling down to his fingertips. “Remind me to never leave you alone in a place like this ever again.”

Dick just hums and sips the water, eyes half-lidded but alert enough that it keeps Wally’s worry in check. “Thanks, Walls,” he murmurs.