Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I

Wally West was fifteen and had a dumb idea.

He had been having a pretty bad day up until that point.  The night before he had spent sitting in his room after Barry grounded him for a night because of an incident involving his new trainers maybe catching fire, which totally wasn’t his fault and the punishment was unfair. But apparently he needed to ‘learn to pace himself’, which was a usual Barry lecture he didn’t understand. Wally had been wound up tighter as a result, his brain whizzing too fast for him to keep up as he tapped his feet irritably, forced to slave away at homework, stuck at his desk.

It was torture, frankly. These days, Wally needed the release running with his Uncle gave him. Staying still just wasn’t an option anymore.

Because of all the energy hanging with him, Kid Flash hadn’t been able to sleep. Lying awake until the sun came up was painful enough for a normal person, but for a speedster, it felt like a week; he was left with nothing but his thoughts as they stared at the ceiling, feeling a rising mountain of crap grow inside him.

He’d been grumpy in the morning, skipping breakfast and leaving early, but more time at school hadn’t exactly improved his day; it only gave him more time in his Hell-hole, and longer for people to make comments. Being early had earned him more ‘teacher’s pet’ jibes and a couple of punches. It was nothing he couldn’t handle – but he could have done without it.

The Master Idea came to him in chemistry class, as he completely zoned out (as usual, he learnt the entire syllabus back to front on the first week back) and began to doodle in the margins of his notebook. It was a shabby piece of paper, the edges curled up because of how it was shoved in his bag every day, usually hurriedly; there was a coffee ring on the cover from where Barry used it as a placemat the last time Wally had gone to the CPPD to help out.

There were only a few scribbled notes on the lined page as he sat, knees bent under the stool he was perched at. It was enough to keep the teacher from noticing his lack of attention, and as long as he stayed quiet, the class had no ammunition against him or reason to bother him at all. So he stayed silent. Wally tapped his pen at first, daydreaming, but eventually found it uncapped in his hand, a few wavy lines or scribbled calculations dotting the empty spaces like a piece of modern art - except it was crappy and mostly involved pictures of himself as Kid Flash, but buffer, to boost his ego.

He wasn’t paying attention in the slightest when he added a cape and a domino mask to the picture, and it wasn’t until a tiny drawing of himself as Robin looked up at him that Wally blinked hard, snapping out of the trance he’d fallen into.

“Huh,” he breathed, a lopsided grin gracing his features as he considered the doodle. It wasn’t a half-bad drawing (if he said so himself). Somehow, his day improved whenever he had time to daydream about his night life and his friends, the ones who counted – the thought of his Team made it all more okay. Biting his lip, school faded away as a plan started to formulate in his mind.

This was going to be epic.

When he got home that night, Wally sketched again, brainstorming what material’s he’d need, getting reference pictures, feeling that little spark of excitement grow in his chest. His finger tapped so hard he left a burn mark on the desk at one point, after which he opted to take a break and go patrolling with his Uncle.

On that patrol, they took out the Top. It was a hard fight but a long one; by the time they were done it was two in the morning. They were both burning from the exercise, but the hollow feeling was overshadowed by the pride at what they had done. Wally’s stomach was growling ‘louder than an angry grizzly’ as Barry so aptly put it.

They went for burgers, running through the drive through (the employee’s were used to it) and heading for a bank of the river to sit and eat quietly. If they went home, Iris would swarm them and neither of them would be eating anytime soon. So they sat on the grass, the city lights glowing from skyscrapers and neon lights of business shining on in the distance, the only sight they’d need that night to know they had done something good.

Central City was safe; they had junk food, and things were pretty okay.

When he remembered his grand idea, he told Barry immediately. The Flash spat out a hunk of burger laughing, lying back on the grass and holding his sides, the emotion controlling his entire body – nobody could capture joy quite like Flashes. Wally laughed along; glad it was with someone instead of the laughter being aimed at him.

“Oh Kid,” Barry laughed, breathless as he sat again. His cowl had slipped, uncovering a tuft of blonde hair. “I’ll make you a deal – I’ll give you a $100 to make this happen if you help me steal the security footage of Batman’s reaction afterwards.”

“Deal.”

The next month, he worked tirelessly. Having a project to do outside of school and the Team helped him, which was something he’d worked out about a year ago. Sure, being a hero was exciting, but he couldn’t do it all the time and it didn’t even come close to using all the energy bustling through his veins like fire, burning away at him in every boring moment (for a speedster, a dull minute can feel like an hour).

Putting his mind and body to something sharpened him the rest of the time, finally getting the release he needed. He went to school and planned things out in his head, able to ignore the jibes aimed at him and the boredom edging on every moment there; he went on missions with the Team who found Wally was less restless when it counted; and then he went home and spent more time with his Aunt Iris, who was happy to help.

The anticipation was almost as good as the prank.

The day fateful day came, and Halloween had always been pretty sweet in Central City. The entire city glowed orange with lanterns, pumpkins and the streets were decorated to the point of obsession – but Wally’s favourite part was always seeing kid’s dressed as Flash running around. At least half of the kids in the city donned red costumes like his uncles.

It wasn’t a narcissistic thing, either. He used to be one of those kids. Wally West was just glad that they still believed in heroes.

He saw half a dozen of them on the way out of the city, but unlike usual, he had to be very careful not to be seen that night. Glad of the covert work he partook in regularly (badly, but he’d improved a little), Wally zoomed carefully out of the city, mostly avoiding the most crowded areas, although he paused just once in an alley overlooking the middle school. It was decorated for Halloween and a lot of the kids met there, excited to go trick-or-treating and collectively making an excited din of noise.

In the five seconds he paused he counted at least twenty Flash’s – and his heart swelled as he spotted a few Kid Flash’s among them.

Then he flew off. Wally didn’t have much time for standing still, but he was glad he paused that time. He was still grinning, face curved comically upwards when he skidded into the hanger door, feet blurring as he tripped and fell, crashing headfirst and scraping his shoulder across the floor.

Jumping up, Wally did a double take to make sure nobody had been around to witness his failure. He breathed a sigh of relief to see no one around, quickly checking his costume hadn’t torn and giving himself five seconds for his cheeks to blush as red as his hair.

Then he heard a snort.

“Nice going, Kid Idiot.”

Artemis. Of all people, it had to be the one most likely to never let him forget this. Wally spun on his heel until he faced her, “hey . . . Is there any chance at all of us forgetting this happened and never mentioning it again?”

“Not at all.”

“Dang it.”

“Nice costume, by the way.” Artemis half-smirked before looking over him appraisingly, biting her lip. She herself was dressed as a zombie, face made up to look decaying and white contacts making her eyes look terrifying. “It’s almost perfect.”

Under the mask, Wally pulled a face, “almost?”

“As much as I agree you’re the person most likely to con everyone into believing that costume, there’s only one Boy Wonder.”

Despite himself, his frown turned into a gappy grin again. “And I wanted him to see it first, damn it. I should go and find him.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Artemis actually grinned at him, passing him on her way out, “and you’d better stop smiling sharpish. No one will believe it otherwise. See you at the party later?”

Right, Wally remembered, M’gann wanted everyone to go trick-or-treating and to a party at her school again. She and Connor were still new to the whole Halloween thing and the Martian had been matching him for excitement all week, practically bouncing off the walls; even Kaldur was going, having asked the blonde archer to accompany him with a blush. Robin had left his invitation hanging, and Wally was sure he’d find his way to them eventually.

“Yeah . . . maybe,” he replied, already distracted. A second later he ran deeper into the mountain, looking for his best friend. Because he wasn’t watching where he was going, Wally ran right into the person he was looking for. “Rob!”

They had clashed hard and staggered, the younger boy falling as Wally (thankfully) kept his feet this time. Robin was not so lucky, tumbling to the floor and tucking into a roll on instinct, back on his feet as quickly as he had fallen. Slowly, he turned to face his friend, face torn between amusement and horror.

“I . . . I could say the same to you.”

Wally spun around, finally getting to show off his Robin outfit. It was almost identical to his friends, from the cape to the yellow utility belt clasped around his waist. He had used pictures of Robin from TV and his own memory as reference to making it, and Iris had taught him to sew it all together from material he ordered online, keeping patient when he complained how hard threading the needle was. Of course, she had made him do the work himself, telling him it was a useful skill, but he was thankful for all of his aunt’s help, and the extra time with her it bought him.

“What do you think?” he asked, trying not to grin too obviously. Wally was improving his ‘Robin’ persona too: no smiling, occasional wisecracks. The acrobatics was still a shambles, but at least he’d tried. “Dude, you have no idea how hard this was to make. My fingers are scarred for life.”

When Wally looked, Robin’s face was . . . torn. Most would have called it unreadable, but the speedster knew his best friend better than that – out of everyone, he knew what Robin was thinking on missions. Right then, the dark haired boy’s lips were twitching slightly, wanting to smile, but sometimes becoming more of a thoughtful look, as if he was considering something. And his hand had tightened at the side. Dick wanted to either laugh or worry about Wally ever being in the position he was in, but Robin couldn’t reveal too much.

Eventually, he cracked. The lips turned up into a smirk and the acrobat came closer, studying his friends work carefully, “you made this yourself?”

“Not everyone has an Agent A,” Wally joked in relief, using Alfred’s codename like he’d been instructed to do in the mountain. “You’re not mad?”

“Nope,” Robin shook his head, standing a few feet away, “It’s actually pretty good.”

“I know, right?”

At the enthusiastic response, Robin laughed a little. “How does it feel?”

Wally hadn’t really thought about it before. It was . . . odd. The speedster being used to his skin-tight suit, the added weight and clunkiness of the costume was unsettling at first, making him off balance but he adapted quickly, trying it out a few times before that night. He liked the cape, definitely.

“It’s alright, I guess,” he shrugged, “took a little getting used to, but the cape is killer for dramatic purposes.”

“You’re such a dork.”

Wally yelled loudly, the words incomprehensible but the joy behind them evident, tackling his friend again, but this time the younger boy managed to stay on his feet and send his double to the floor. Lying on his back, the speedster shook his head, “I never could get a lock on those ninja moves.”

Robin smirked proudly, “it takes the best.”

“Smug.”

“Yeah, so?” Dick sat beside him on the floor, “it really is weird seeing you in that. I can’t imagine anyone but me in the Robin costume, you know? It’s . . . I don’t know what it is, but it’s totally not asterous. And the thought of you going out with Batman is scary.”

“Hey,” Wally pouted, still lying on his back, “I wouldn’t be that bad.”

“It’s not that, I know you’re not an idiot, Walls. No matter what you let them all think,” when Rob said that, Wally’s heart glowed a little more, even brighter than it had seeing the kids dressed as Kid Flash earlier. It didn’t matter to him what the kids at school said, not when he had a friend who really believed in him. Throw in that the friend in question was freaking Robin, and that was high praise indeed. “I just wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Wally swallowed, his chest still burning with pride, “Oh.”

“It would be a shame to get blood on your costume after you’d worked so hard on it.”

Without even looking over, Wally knows Dick is smiling, putting Robin aside just for a moment, for the two of them. He feels his grin grow wider.

“So dude . . . wanna go freak out Batman?”

“Always.”

A week later, Batman walked in to a League meeting to see a grainy image of his own horrified face on screen. The entire League was watching, most of them laughing at the image of a shocked Batman looking between two almost identical Robin’s, blinking as the bird ran around him before dashing off together.

Next to the screen, an uncowled Barry Allen was laughing, bringing up slides of Kid Flash and Robin later on that night when they’d gone out to some party in each other’s uniforms. His son grinned up from every picture, shock of dark hair peeking from under the Kid Flash Cowl which was slightly too big for him as Wally stood next to him, face completely expressionless, a scowling Robin.

He almost smiled. The next day he had spoken to his ward about precautions, but the boy looked so happy to joke about with his friends that Bruce couldn’t quite get angry.

Still, he growled and stomped across the room, grabbing the disk from Flash and shouting a lot.

After that, a new picture joined the few scattered around the Batcave, this one tucked next to a computer screen by a chuckling Alfred: Kid Flash and Robin, side by side, just like they should be.

Chapter Text

II

Wally was nineteen and bored.

College was great, he guessed . . . people had got over the phase when they were bullying asscracks, he felt as if he was actually learning something new here, and it was freeing. He didn’t have to spend his life on the run (pun intended).

It was great. Except for the fact it was skull-crushingly dull sometimes.

He missed being a hero.

Dick, he texted his best friend, lying on the bed of his small flat; it was tiny and a good walk away from campus, but it was starting to feel like home. He lived alone though, and told himself it didn’t matter. It did. The sound of his own voice was beginning to annoy him. Diiiiiiiiick. I’m bored. Entertain meeee.

He allowed himself a small smile as he sent the messages, eyes drifting to the pictures on his wall. There were shots of him and his family, Barry and Iris grinning beside him at picnic’s with the Garrick’s and school events – and there were pictures with his friends; his team. Most of them were of him and Dick.

Wally sighed, lying back on his pillow and crossing his arms behind his head. The sound was low and miserable. It had been almost four months since he had seen his friend last. Too long.

When he didn’t get a reply after twenty minutes, a frown crept over his lips, brows drawing together as he snatched up his phone again, rolling to his feet and starting to pace the room. Even at the times they hardly talked, when their relationship was strained by time and distance – Dick always texted back. Even if it was just a reply saying he was busy, he responded. They had both agreed on it years ago. With lives like theirs, things went wrong often, and worrying each other unnecessarily was out of the picture. They texted each other back . . . except when they couldn't. In that case, they went straight out to save one another.

So something was wrong.

He called Wayne Manor. The number wasn’t even saved in his phone, but after all these years he knew the numbers naturally, his fingers flying across the phone to key them in even before he’d made the decision to call. Well . . . it was too late now.

“Wayne Manor. Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I be of assistance?”

Despite his worry, Wally felt a smile crease his lips as he leant against the wall, “Hey Alf. Long time, no see.”

“Master West?"

“C’mon now, don’t tell me you’ve forgot the sound of my voice,” the speedster laughed weakly. For some reason, hearing the old butler’s voice had hurt him, reminding him of a lot of things he missed. A lot of people. It really had been too long since he’d met up with his old friends. “Don’t you hurt me like that. I could be over there in ten seconds to annoy you to remembering.”

A chuckle rang back in his ears. “No, no . . . that’s alright. You make quite a lasting impression, Master West.”

“Glad to hear it. Listen, Dicky’s not answering his phone, could you yell at him for me? He should know not to worry me like that by now.”

There was a static pause. Wally waited a good minute for an answer, thinking time was just moving slowly for him again and it hadn’t been that long at all. Then the silence dragged out, on and on, until he realized he wasn’t getting one.

“Alf,” he said slowly, “tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“You mustn’t get upset-”

“Damn right I’m getting upset!” Wally shouted down the phone, standing upright once more, every muscle rigid with fear. He’d lost too many people, and no answer from Alfred meant something had gone really, really wrong. “Where. Is. Dick?”

“He’s . . . he’s gone, sir. He left home three weeks ago and we haven’t been able to find him.”

Wally felt the world collapse. The first few breaths he took were deeply sucked in, forcing his lungs to inflate as he fell against the wall again, this time feeling it press against his back as he slid down it, crumbling to the floor. Then his breathing turned erratic – he panted heavily, his breaths too quick and not enough. As he cradled the phone, vaguely hearing Alfred trying to calm him on the other end, his fingers shaking so badly he had to wrap both hands around the device to keep it from slipping from his fingers.

Dick was gone. Not hurt, gone. Somehow that was worse. If he had been hurt, they could deal with it, and he would get better. If Dick had vanished and not even Batman knew where he was . . . that was unthinkable. It was so wrong there were no words.

Slowly, the voice drifted back as the ringing in Wally’s ears dimmed to a roar of blood that was surging around him as his heart beat at super-speed.

“Master Wayne, he seems to be experiencing difficulties. You may need to go over there,” Alfred said, obviously talking to Bruce on the other end of the phone. The voice became louder as he spoke into the receiver again. “Master West? . . . Wallace? Do you need us to send someone?”

“No,” Wally managed to choke out, still frantic, “please . . . just explain. What happened?”

“I’m probably not the best person to explain that,” the butler admitted. There was a note of shame in his voice, a pinched sound; he was just as worried as Wally.

The speedster suddenly realised the truth: Dick hadn’t left, he had been driven away. He got back to his feet. In a low voice, he instructed. “Put Bruce on.”

“Master West-”

“Do it.”

There was shuffling and muffled voices, a fight Alfred apparently won, for Bruce’s gruff and annoyed voice huffed down the phone a moment later: “What do you want?”

“Hmmnnn, I don’t know-” Wally replied sarcastically, feeling the frustration of the situation well up as he slammed his palm against the wall, “to know what the hell you did this time to drive my friend away, maybe? Or where he is?!”

“We really don’t know where he is,” Bruce replied. This time, there was a hesitant worry to his tone, “I tried to track him, but . . . I trained him. If he doesn’t want to be found, we never will.”

“Did you even try?”

“Of course I did! He’s my son.”

Wally’s voice went cold, “then what did you do to push him away? And don’t even think of lying to me, Bruce. I’ve known you both too long for that.”

Bruce paused. But it lasted only a moment, then he spoke in a quick, brisk voice. “Dick was spending too much time with the Team. I needed him in Gotham and he wasn’t here, his objectivity was compromised. I had no choice.”

“Bruce – what did you do?”

“I got a new Robin.”

“You what?”

“His name is Jason, I’m training him to join me. Dick was . . . not too happy when he found out.” Bruce sounded odd, like there was something stuck in his throat. “He left.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” the speedster said slowly. He left Batman hanging for a while, trying to process it in his head. But it was so, so wrong. “This is ridiculous. You idiot, Bruce! The high-and-fucking-mighty Batman; a complete moron!”

“West-”

“No. Shut up, shut up, right now!” Wally shouted, pacing. On the other end, Bruce sounded furious at being spoke to in this way, but the speedster didn’t care in the slightest. “Of course he’s gone, you colossal asshat! You took the thing which means the most in the world to him. You took Robin away.”

“It wasn’t his,” Bruce bit out, “this is my crusade. And he wasn’t there enough.”

“I told you to shut up.”

“W-”

“And how could you say Robin wasn’t his?!” Wally demanded angrily, feeling the venom in his own voice, so furious with what he was saying tiny spit droplets hit the phone as he ranted into it. “He is Robin! It was the name his mother called him, the name he chose to take – you can’t give it to someone else. You can’t.”

Although he was worried about Dick too, Bruce wasn’t going to put up with being verbally assaulted. He responded in a curt, bitter tone. “I have. And it’s none of your business anymore – you walked away from all this, too.”

“None of my business? He’s my family! I thought he was yours, too,” the speedster spat out. “Even if you’ve given up on Dick, I never will. That’s a fucking promise!”

He hung up.

Wally knew it was a bad idea; a mistake, but he didn’t care right then. Even if he got a call from an extremely pissed off Bat or a sanction from the League because of it, he wouldn’t regret saying what he did. Because growing up, Wally had gotten along with Bruce quite well. When he and Rob hung out as civilians at Wayne Manor, he learnt the Big Bad Bat wasn’t actually so scary, and thought of him as a sort-of Uncle for a time.

So he knew when to call him out on being an asshole. It could happen sometimes without Bruce realising it, the speedster settling arguments between Dick and Bruce many times; but never one this bad. Most people would be afraid to stand up to Batman, but not Wally. He just knew when to pick his battles. This was one of those times.

It was unnatural. It was so unbelievably, inconceivably absurd. Dick was Robin. Not some other kid Bruce had decided to train.

And Dick . . .

Wally could imagine what his best friend was feeling right now. What he was thinking. Over and over. That he wasn’t good enough, and it was all over. Others would only be able to guess Rob’s thoughts, but Wally knew exactly what Dick would be doing – and where he’d run to.

Wally got to the circus at midnight.

Haly’s was just like he remembered it, the few times he had come with Dick when they were kids – the blue trailers still looked cheerful and welcoming, and the entire scene was overridden by the smell of hay. The show was long over, but there were still plenty of people bustling around, chatting and laughing.

If he was anywhere, this was where Dick Grayson would be.

After asking about, Wally found himself directed to a trailer a little away from the others, the only one with the door closed and a dim light on inside. That would be the one, then. Wally didn't even knock, just walked in before looking around the small trailer curiously.

There wasn't much stuff yet, but there was a blanket on a small bed and a lamp, alongside a few personal things Wally recognised. It was definitely the right place, but it was empty. Or at least he thought so until a voice spoke from behind him.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Wally spun around as the shadow behind him moved, morphing into the figure of his best friend as he stepped into the low light. Dressed in torn jeans and a overlarge sweater, the man in front of him hadn't looked good, bright blue eyes marred by the dark circles beneath them and swaying, the smell of the alcohol hanging over him like a cloud.

“Dick,” the speedster said, his voice shaking. He had half expected not to find his friend so easily, but his nerves quickly died down at seeing his friend (mostly) unhurt. This he could deal with. This he could fix, or try to. “I came to find you, I was worried.”

The ex-Robin swayed dangerously again, stumbling past the red head to the bed which took up most of the trailer before falling onto it, not able to stand; he looked up through a mop of dark hair and looked genuinely confused.

“Why?”

Wally shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. There was just a hint of a smile on his face. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

The two of them sat on the creaky old bed. It had a rusting metal frame and the mattress groaned under the weight of the two teenagers, but it didn’t matter. Sitting against the trailer wall with their legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Wally tried to think of something to say.

“So . . . how did you get the booze?”

Dick just turned to look at him even in the state he’d drank himself into, raising one eyebrow. He might have been hurting, but the corners of his mouth twitched up at his friend’s usual lack of direction.

“Right,” Wally nodded, “not the time.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asked quickly. He sipped from the glass of tap water his friend had shoved in his hand, thoughts clearing pretty quickly. Years ago, Bruce had made him learn how to come around fast from injuries or drugs, so the same thing applied to alcohol. “Even Bruce hasn’t been able to so far. Or maybe he doesn’t even care.”

“He does care,” the speedster said, “Him and Alf were so worried when I spoke to them today. Even if he’d never admit it, this is killing him.”

Dick scoffed, pushing the air from his lungs and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. Bruce doesn’t have emotions, remember?”

“Dude,” Wally shook his head, “I know you’re mad. You have every right to be. But if Bruce is emotionless, you cured him of that. You made him beter. He loves you.”

“He replaced me!”

“I know.”

“He told me to leave my costume. I’m not Robin anymore.”

“C’mon,” Wally nudged him with his shoulder, “You’ll always be Rob.”

“But I won’t, though,” Dick shook his head. As he leant forwards, tucking his feet in and hunching over them, the former boy wonder looked truly miserable. His dark hair hung over his eyes, grown out a lot in the months since Wally had last seen him, and the edges of his eyes strained as his they became glassy with tears. “I thought I’d do it forever. That one day . . . I thought I might be Batman. But what if he’s right? What if I’m not good enough for Gotham?”

“Dick . . .”

“Even you stopped coming around, Wally. I’m not good enough for anyone.”

The speedster froze. Open mouthed, he stared at the back of his friend’s head as Dick remained hunched forwards, his back hitching with his breathing as steady, silent tears dripped down his face. Wally felt awful. It was true; he hadn’t been around recently.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, voice muffled as his face rested on his knees. “It’s not your fault. I’m just . . . I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re right,” Wally said. Tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly when he wasn’t shrugged off. “I’ve been busy and we haven’t seen each other enough; that’s on me.”

“It’s on both of us. I’ve been busy too.”

“Whatever. The point is: I’m not leaving again.”

Dick frowned, sitting back up against the wall and peering over at his red-headed friend curiously. He blinked a few times. “What do you mean, Walls? You can’t stay here. You’ve got a life now, you can’t just leave it – the circus doesn’t suit you.”

Wally chuckled a little, “hey, people always called me a clown. Maybe it’s time I lived up to that.”

Even Dick laughed, although the sound was raw. “I’m just passing through here, really, I don’t even know . . . I don’t really have a home anymore. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I can’t just give it up – if I can’t be Robin, I’ll be something else. Find a new city and a new name.”

“Funny you say that,” Wally smirked, “because I was just thinking of getting back in the game. College is boring. Everything’s so slow.”

“You don’t have to do that, not for me.”

“Maybe I’m doing it for both of us. We could do with a new start.”

Dick scratched the back of his head. “A new start with old friends. Imagine that.”

“Sound good?”

“It’s better than doing it alone.”

Wally held out a closed fist, and Dick bumped his own against it, laughing. Only Wally could have made him laugh right then; make it all better. Three weeks ago, his life ended. Now, sitting there with his best friend, Dick could finally imagine a new one, a better one.

“I was thinking,” the dark haired boy said, “how about going to Blüdhaven? It’s just as bad as Gotham and there’s no hero to protect it.”

Wally grinned, “Plus being that close will piss Batman off.”

“That, too.”

“And who will you be?” the speedster asked gently, “Worked that one out yet?”

This time, it was Dick’s turn to grin. He leant his head back against the trailer, the familiar smell and hour making his eyelids heavy as he lazily looked in his friend’s direction.

“I spoke to Uncle Clark about it, the first day I left. He told me about an old Krytonian myth, a legend who inspired him to become a hero when he came to Earth; to help people. He gave me permission to use the same name,” Dick revealed, finishing the sentence with a feeling of hope. “I’m gonna be Nightwing.”

Dick awoke to a loud crash and the sound of someone rifling through his trailer, knocking things to the floor and cursing under their breath. He was slumped on the bed, half against the wall but with a blanket over his body like someone had tried to cover him; his head hurt, his back ached, and for the first time in three weeks he woke without panicking.

“Wally,” he murmured, blinking sleepily awake and trying to stretch to see the redhead, “what on earth are you doing?”

The dark haired teen pushed himself up on one elbow and immediately burst into laughter at the sight that awaited him. His hand covered his eyes as he giggled with glee, peeking through it only to crack up again a minute later, collapsing back into the sheets.

Wally was wearing the costume he had been performing in for the past few nights, his dad’s old blue suit which he had slowly been modifying to fit the hero business. Dick had sewn on holders for the escrima sticks he had decided to work with, expecting to create a better armoured material with the same design as soon as he settled somewhere, but for the early days, that was his new image.

On Wally, however, it was a sight.

The suit itself wasn’t too different from the one the speedster used to wear as Kid Flash; seeing Wally in a skin-tight body suit wasn’t an usual sight to Dick, who had seen Wally’s abs many times but was impressed he had grown from a weedy kid to a surprisingly toned man - although the colours were all wrong. Wally was bright. He dressed in reds and yellows and looked so alive, not black and blue. It didn’t suit him, clashing with the vivid redness of his hair and freckles, sticking out of the dark suit in a stark contrast.

Then there was the massive dip of the suit's collar, something Wally was also laughing at as he spun around in the Nightwing suit, trying to check out his ass in the mirror in the corner.

“Dude,” the speedster said, strolling to stand in front of the room, face red with suppressed laughter. He looked awkward but smug, “we really need to work on your suit.”

“That was my father’s!”

“And it’s fine for performing in the circus, but the villains will be too busy laughing at you to fight you if you wear it in the field!” Wally laughed, then raised an eyebrow, “actually, that might not be a bad thing. Dazzle them with your cleavage, bro.”

Dick cackled, rolling back on the bed with his legs kicking out at the air with laughter, sides hurting by the time he and Wally were done. It was quite a while. But he ached in a good way, so it didn’t matter in the end. They were going to Blüdhaven; he was not alone and they would be okay. Dick could finally believe it.

“I mean, really,” Wally laughed for the last time, looking down at himself and shaking his head. He finally picked on his favourite aspect of the suit by far, grabbing the collar in both of his hands and doing an Elvis impression, revelling in the sound of Dick’s laughter. “Who are you: Nightwing or Discowing?”

Chapter Text

III

Wally West was twenty five and sleepless.

He was bone tired from patrol, but for the past week sleep had evaded him. That night Cold and the rest of the Rogues had kept him busy for three hours holding up a bank, leaving him battered and probably in need of a hospital, although all he did was go home and collapse on the couch. The bed was too far away in his large apartment in Central, and it was so much easier to just give up and face plant on the blue cushions.

Face smushed into the fabric, he realised it smelt of old pizza and that he should probably clean this place properly soon. For the past four years it had been his place of residence, but it still didn’t feel like home. He rarely cleaned, and kept his belongings there to a bare minimum – somehow, he is still clinging on to the hope that things could all go back to the way they used to be.

But they couldn’t.

Wally groaned, twisting onto his back and glaring at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that his life was derailed four years ago. For a year, he had lived in Blüdhaven with Dick, watching his friend go from strength to strength and grow as a hero as Nightwing became the city’s saviour; in their free time around that, they were happy.

The excessive amount of video games they had played and junk food they had eaten in that year was an indicator of what a great time they’d had. . . . And there was the other stuff, too. The first time they had kissed, and the ten months they had been together, when Wally would wake to lips on his neck and the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

Everything had changed when Barry died - when he was murdered. The day Wally had lost his family and his life had changed forever. But there was no killer for Wally to catch when he returned to Central, Dick at his side and broken up. Anti-Monitor was dead. The League all came for the funeral and called Barry Allen a hero, commending him for giving his life to save not just their Earth, but every Earth. It meant nothing to him; just empty words and a missing hole in his life.

The Flash died a hero. Barry died in a quieter way, mourned only by Iris and his nephew in the eyes of the citizens of the city, an unimportant man; someone who would be forgotten. That was the fact that killed the younger speedster. His Uncle was so much more than his mantle; Wally had idolised the Flash, but he loved Barry Allen even more.

He didn’t know how to go on for the first week. Aunt Iris let him and Dick stay in the house, glad to see him again, but they were both too busy trying not to fall apart for her to ever really comment on his and Dick’s relationship, which they had kept quiet. All he remembered of that time was the weight in his chest, the feeling that he needed to run away quelled only by Dick’s arms around him, anchoring him to reality.

Within a month, he was the Flash, because that was what was needed of him. His hometown needed a hero. The League needed a speedster. It was what everyone told him to do . . . no matter what it cost him.

He had stayed in Central City. Dick had gone back home.

At first, they tried to make it work. He ran across the country as often as he could to see his boyfriend, but Wally was getting used to being the Flash and busier than ever, and Nightwing was becoming as much of a symbol as Batman these days. Eventually, they had called it quits. But it never stopped hurting. For most of his life, he had been in love with his best friend; to have that for real and then lose it almost broke him. Wally hadn’t seen anyone else in the years since only getting older and lonelier. And now he couldn’t sleep because he was worried about his ex.

He was lying on his back, suit still clinging to him with sweat and blood when his phone rang. Wally bit back a scream as the vibrations of the phone rattled his broken ribs, fumbling to open it and shove it to his ear as quickly as possible, too woozy to even think straight.

“Mmmnnn?”

“Wally?” a quiet voice asked, familiar to the speedster but he couldn’t quite place it in his state. He knew he should tell them to go away (or better yet, help him), but he was never the type to think of himself. “I know it’s late, but I didn’t know who else to call. I need your help.”

For a moment, the redhead gathered his thoughts. He was tired but the words set him on edge, narrowing down who could be calling to a precious few. It clicked, “Tim?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you alright? Are you safe?”

He sounded concerned, and the much younger boy on the phone smiled a little. There was a time Wally was like a brother in law to all of them; Tim missed that. “I’m fine, Wally. But Dick, he’s . . . everything is falling to pieces here and he’s doing nothing.”

Wally rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What you need to understand is that this isn’t all on him, okay? Dick has no obligation to do anything but grieve right now.”

“But-”

“Bruce is dead,” he said, not unkindly, “Dick will never get over that. It’s simple. They were a family for so long, and to lose that? I know how that feels. It will take time, if it ever goes away at all. You’ve got to give him the time he needs . . . I came and did what I could, but there’s nothing else I can do.”

“You could try again,” Tim begged. He was in his bedroom, holding his cell phone desperately to his ear, afraid of being heard. Alfred was downstairs in the kitchen, Damian was storming around in his own room, and Dick had been in the batcave staring at the walls all day. Something had to be done. “Please, he’ll listen to you!”

“Timmy, I tried. But he’s allowed to hurt; it’s only been three weeks.”

“Gotham has gone to hell in that time,” the current Robin revealed, an edge to his voice. “The criminals think Batman’s dead and are celebrating with violence. There’s no one to stop it anymore – it’s chaos. Plus, there are imitations already. People are dying trying to be Batman, in his name – B-bruce wouldn’t want that.”

The boy’s voice caught on his surrogate father’s name. It was clear, even from just listening to them, that the entire family was still reeling from the loss of their father. Tim sounded about as tired as Wally, who wondered if any of them had slept recently.

“There’s one Batman who’s not like the rest. He knows too much, even reminds me of Bruce a little – but a lot more violent.” Tim’s voice took a turn, shaking a little, “it’s Jason. We all know it is. You knew him, too, didn’t you?”

“. . . I did.”

“He needs help, Wally. Just as much as the rest of us, Jason needs help; he always has, even if he hates our guts. Dick is the only one who can stop him and he just . . . He has to get better. We all need him to.”

“You’re a good kid, Tim,” the speedster said fondly. Bruce picked all of his kids well. “I know you just want to help, but I don’t know what to do, either.”

“You know Dick better than anyone!” the boy shouted, “hell, you knew Bruce longer than I did! We need family here, Wally. That’s you. I know you can help, just please . . . come.”

A pang of guilt hit Wally, his fist clenching at his side. Perhaps he could do more . . .

Wally sat up. He made only a small grunt of pain for doing so, his injuries already healing physically (the mental ones he wasn’t even going to go near) but they would be crooked if he didn’t sort them out soon. Of all nights, he’d picked the worst one to get his ass kicked.

“Ugh,” he moaned aloud. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost 2am. “Okay, but it’s late. There’s not much I can do now and I’m beat, man. Cold kicked ten types of crap out of me tonight.”

“But Dick’s just gone to bed,” Tim said, “I heard him. If you wanted to come now and have a look around on your own while you think of a plan, I’m sure Alfred could patch you up.”

“Damn it,” Wally cursed. “Fine, but I’m taking the Zeta tube. I don’t even think I could run right now.”

“I’ll go downstairs and set our systems to let you in,” the Robin said. The relief in his voice was clear. “Thank you. Really, I understand it isn’t easy, so thanks.”

“Anything for family.”

The Zeta tube hummed, and that brought back a lot of memories for Wally, triggered even more when he stepped out of the tube to see the batcave opening out before him, still as impossibly huge as the first time he had seen it. That place never lost its wonder.

Neither did its inhabitants.

“Wally!”

He looked up to see Tim waiting, leaning against a table littered with blueprints and prototypes for equipment Bruce would never see finished, but the teenager looked up and grinned as Wally walked into the cave. Tim was seventeen and still smarter than all of them, but he was looking a little worse for wear, hair a bird’s nest on his head and eyes red.

“Hey, kiddo,” the speedster replied, ambling over and pulling the Robin into a tight hug. At that moment, he was actually using Tim for support, leaning too heavily on the boy to compensate for the weakness in his knees. “It’s been a while.”

“Wally,” Tim laughed along, allowing the contact. With Dick being so detached from them all, there was no one left to comfort them physically around, and he secretly needed that hug more than he would ever let on. “You came as soon as you heard and stayed for days. That was only two weeks ago.”

“But I missed you.”

The words were said so earnestly Tim had no option but to grumble back, “you too. Now let’s get you looked at: are you hugging me or using me as a crutch?”

“Um, both?” Wally admitted, looking a little abashed, but Tim just laughed anyway. He turned to sling the man’s arm over his shoulders and walked them both slowly up to the infirmary, entering just as Alfred appeared.

“Master West,” the elderly butler greeted, the twinkle in his eye only slight diminished. “Still getting into trouble, I see.”

Wally eased himself onto the bed, sitting with his legs over the edge, flashing a self-deprecating smile in their direction, “Only when I have good friends to patch me up.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Alfred took a look at the speedster's injuries, helped by Tim, who was trying to learn from the older man just as much as he learned from Batman. Together, they set Wally’s broken ribs without too much trouble, but looked concerned by the deep purple bruises already marking his torso.

“Those look sore,” Tim winced, “you should have told me you were hurt, I never would have made you come if I’d have known. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Timmy. It was my choice to come, and once I’d decided I was coming, nothing coulda stopped me.”

“Then you should take better care of youself, Wallace,” Alfred frowned. “You’re not indestructible.”

“You needed me,” Wally said plainly, “where else would I be?” At his words, both Tim and Alfred looked touched, averting their eyes, so he huffed out a long breath. “Jeez, they’ll be gone in an hour! I heal fast, remember? And don’t go getting all sad on me, I need you to keep hoping.”

The Butler looked up to give him a small, grateful nod. “I’ll get you some food, Master Wally. You need to keep your strength up.”

Alfred sounded close to tears as he walked away, footsteps echoing loudly to the ceiling high above them. Wally watched him go sadly. Bruce was like a father to Dick and Tim – but he was a son to Alfred. They all really needed something to hold them together again.

Robin looked slowly over to Wally. He walked over solemnly, extending a hand. “Okay,” Tim nodded, helping the older man to his feet. “Now what do we do?”

“I’ll still thinking on that one.”

Wally and Tim stood in front of the big computer in the batcave, the elder’s eyes flowing across the hundreds of pictures tacked or tucked around it with a nostalgic smile. It had started many, many years ago with a picture or two being left there by Alfred to remind his younger charges that there was a light in the darkness, but the space was filled with family memories quickly.

Although it was mostly Bruce and his boys, or Barbara or Cass or Steph, Wally’s red hair could be seen noticeably in a lot of the pictures, a member of the family a lot longer than most, even if they hadn’t even realised it at first.

“I remember that like it was yesterday,” he laughed suddenly, pulling a picture free from the wall. It was at least ten years old, the picture dimmed with age and yellowed, almost buried under newer pictures. He grinned like a madman at seeing it, turning to Tim brightly, “What do you think? Do I make a good Robin?”

Tim looked at the picture to see Wally and Dick when they were much younger – dressed as each other. It was absurd, and a splutter of laughter rose up from his chest before he could stop it, clapping his hand to his mouth a moment later. He hadn’t really laughed since Bruce had died.

“Wow,” he giggled, taking a closer look at the picture, “it’s so odd to see you like that.”

“Dick said the same thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Wally smiled wryly this time, “said he could never imagine anyone else as Robin. Look how that went.”

Tim huffed. “Harsh, dude.”

“You know what I mean,” Wally rolled his eyes. “Dick wouldn’t have it any other way now. That was the important thing about Robin – it was a legacy, and he got a family from it. You’re his brother.”

The younger boy’s ears went pink with pride, so he refocused them back to the picture, “I can’t believe Bruce let you get away with that.”

“You should have seen his face when we walked in dressed like that,” the speedster chuckled, “Uncle Barry got the security footage from here afterwards and showed it to the entire League – I thought Batman was gonna kill him!”

Wally laughter became pained for a minute when his Uncle came up, prompting Tim to ask, “Does it ever stop hurting?”

The other man waited long enough that Tim didn’t think he was going to get an answer, the air between them becoming charged with a heavy sense of emotion kept in check for too long. But as he was about to speak again, the speedster unsurprisingly beat him to it.

“No, it doesn’t. But it gets better.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve just got to remember the best,” Wally said slowly, which was unthinkable for him. It gave the words more weight. “When I think of my Uncle, I could be sad, but why would I do that when I could just remember all the good times instead? I remember his laugh most of all. Because that’s what he’d want me to do.”

Tim nodded in understanding, but couldn’t help but ask, “What do you think Bruce would want us to remember about him?”

“That he loved you,” Wally replied easily. “And his strength, I guess. All he ever wanted was to make this city better, and his legacy to you is that passion to help others. Even when it hurt him, he stuck to his morals – that is true strength, never mind the fact that when we were kids he used to benchpress me and Dick to impress us.”

For the second time, Tim laughed, his sides aching a little by the time they were both finished, staring at the wall of old friends. “I used to love it when you told us stories about the old Team and League, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll tell you some more, sometime,” Wally promised. “I mean that. I know I’ve promised to be around more and failed, but it’s time life went our way for once, don’t you think?”

Tim nodded, “definitely.”

Behind them, a loud groan sounded. It belonged to the small child who stomped in and headed straight to the training area, face set into a grumpy line as he grumbled under his breath. The boy pushed past Wally and Tim without a greeting, making Robin roll his eyes at the younger boy’s antics. Of all of their siblings, Tim and Damian did not get along. Every time he saw him, Wally thought the child looked more and more like his father.

Wally nudged Tim and motioned his head, the two of them following Damian further into the cave. The redhead stopped and greeted cheerily, “Hey, lil D!”

The ten year old scowled, “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, little birdies get nicknames,” Wally shrugged, “it’s a rule.”

“You’re not my brother, West. Don’t act like it.” For a moment, the speedster allowed a small, disappointed look to cross his face. It was a well known fact that Damian was hostile to just about everyone, but Wally had really hoped the youngest child would have accepted him by now. After all, he had a good friendship with all the rest of Bruce’s kids. It didn’t mean he would stop trying, but it hurt every time. Damian went on, “what are you doing back here anyway? Grayson gets mopey every time you leave.”

“He does?”

“He’s very good at hiding it usually,” the young boy said. “Not so much the last time you left. I assume you’re here to snap him out of it?”

“Wally’s always welcome here,” Tim cut in loudly. He disliked Damian enough usually, but it had been even worse since Bruce died. “Our father let him stay here, and so will we.”

“He wasn’t your father, Drake. You were his pity case.”

“At least he chose me!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you were kind of dropped on him,” Tim said coolly. His tone was casual, but the words icy; he and Damian just knew how to press one another’s buttons. “I might have been adopted, but you were made to be a weapon.”

“Enough, both of you!” Wally shouted, stepping between the two arguing boys. He shook his head, fixing them both with the same disappointed look, lip sticking out as he bit it. “Bruce wouldn’t want this. He left you a family, and neither of you have a lot of that-” The boys looked down, “so you’ve got to hold on to what you already have. That’s each other.”

“Sorry, Wally.”

“I suppose you’re right, West.”

“Good,” the speedster said proudly. He might be a terrible person, but he was a good brother (in his own opinion). “Go to bed and learn to keep yourselves in check. Bats and birds work better as a team; always.”

“We don’t have a Bat,” Damian pointed out, “not anymore.”

“Not yet.”

“Grayson? You think he’ll take over?”

Wally shrugged, “I’m going to talk to him. But I believe that if anyone is going to be Batman and carry the torch lit by Bruce, it will be him. He has the strength to do it - just not the faith to right now, which is why he needs us to believe in him, and try a little co-operation. Got it, squirts?”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded. There was a small grin edging on his face, looking at something behind the speedster with a knowing look. He nudged his brother. “C’mon Dami. Let’s go see if Alfred needs any help.”

“But-”

“Damian,” Tim made eye contact and nodded subtly to the thing behind Wally. “We need to go.”

“What? – Oh,” Damian caught the sight and nodded, already scurrying away, “I’ll guess I’ll see you in the morning, West.”

“Night, Wally! Good luck!”

They passed the speedster almost faster than he could watch, running away up the stair to the house, clearly eager to be gone. Wally, who had been watching the exchange torn with pride and confusion finally fell to the second emotion, blinking, “good what?”

He spun around and saw why they were leaving immediately. Face blanching; Wally used his superspeed to try and tame his hair, running his hands through it. Instantly he stood a little straighter, feeling awkward, like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Paused at the bottom of the staircase, Dick Grayson looked amused. (Well, his face looked amused, but Wally noticed he was looking terrible aside from that). Dick obviously hadn’t been eating right, thinner than usual, painfully so; his hair was longer and shaggy, his face hollow.

“You managed to get the two of them to agree on something,” Dick said, his voice almost sounding joking again, “Perhaps miracles do happen.”

“Dick!” Wally flushed, trying to move but finding his mind blank on how to act like a normal human being. He stepped forwards then back again, lifting his hand to shake Dick’s before realising how cold that would appear, instead turning it into a lame wave before letting it drop to his side. “ . . . Hi?”

Like usual, Nightwing was straight to the point. “Tim called you, didn’t he?”

“He’s worried.”

“About Gotham, I know.”

“About you!” Wally protested. He walked forwards more confidently now, stopping close to Dick and reaching out a hand, finding the shoulder beneath his finger’s much bonier than he remembered. “We all are.”

“I’m fine,” Dick shook his head, trying to move away. It was a weak effort; in fact he stepped closer to Wally, whose hand trailed down his shoulder to take his hand at the movement. “You don’t have to worry about me, Walls. We’re not kids anymore.”

“I always worry about you. That’s what love is.”

“Idiot,” Dick muttered, still looking at his feet, “where did you read that, a fortune cookie?”

“Nope,” Wally laughed, leaning forwards until their foreheads touched, although Dick kept his gaze averted. “That’s my own brand pearl of wisdom.”

“You’re not wise.”

“But you own actual pearls upstairs,” the speedster chuckled, “we make quite a team, in my book.” He tugged gently on the hand now laced in his, “look at me, Dick.”

A pair of blue eyes met green ones. (Wally had loved Dick’s eyes from the first time he saw them. He didn’t believe it was possible to have eyes so blue before that, but Dick’s held universes in them). Dick breathed out. Wally breathed in. They stayed that way for a minute.

“I know it’s hard, okay? But don’t shut me out,” Wally said quietly, closing his eyes. His head rocked on Dick’s as he spoke, choosing the words carefully as he tried to calm them both, having forgotten how good it felt to be close to Dick. “I know you’re hurting. We all are. But I still believe in you, and in what you can be.”

“I c-can’t be Batman. I know that’s what everyone expects of me, but I can’t.”

“I disagree. I think you’re the only person who can be Batman – it’s your right. Of everyone, you were the son Bruce was most proud of; you took what he taught you and grew with it, became better, even better than him. It’s you, Dick. You’re the one.”

“I’m not you,” Dick said, finally stepping away. He lost contact, moving backwards until his back hit the cave wall. “It was easy for you to become the Flash because you and Barry were so close, you were almost the same person! I’m not like Bruce.”

“You’re more like him than you think.”

“Don’t,” Dick started to walk away, crossing to the section where Bruce kept his trophies. Various objects and costumes lined the shelves, including his original Robin costume. That was where Wally caught up to him.

“Take a look at that,” the speedster grabbed his retreating friend’s hand and pulled them to a stop in front of the display. Attempting to lighten the mood, he joked, “Those shorts are the stuff of dreams, hot pants.”

“Shut up,” Dick complained, but he blushed a little. He stopped obediently, eyes passing over the costume fondly. “Those things were terrible. I nearly froze to death every time I had to do a stake-out in them.”

“Right, ‘cause your skin tight suit now is so much warmer.”

“It is . . . a little. You can hardly talk.”

Wally scoffed, pulling them along a little more. The hand in his own was warm, and he squeezed it every so often, “I can vibrate my molecules to stay warm. Like this.”

He buzzed his hand until Dick laughed; the heat generated enough to keep them cosy. They were both in civvies, which was odd for them, and Wally felt exposed without his cowl, completely himself with no barriers. He had never had to hide in front of Dick, though, so he just held on tighter for security.

They wandered down the wall of trophies, pausing at Jason’s suit, as they always did. Dick brushed two fingers to it. When Jason died and Bruce put it up, Nightwing had been furious. Over time, he chose to see it as a sign of respect, and the tiny gesture every time he passed proved that.

“He’s going to hurt himself, you know,” Wally said softly. If anything was going to convince Dick to take up the cowl, it would be family. “I know you still care about him, no matter what Jay’s done. He’s trying to be Batman, but he isn’t capable of it. It doesn’t fit him.”

Dick said nothing, but chewed his lip thoughtfully. The fact he was listening at all was a victory, so Wally pulled them further down the wall display, commenting on things as they passed. His voice was light, Dick laughing without realizing it as they made their way closer to it.

The Batman suit. Bruce’s suit.

Before he had time to process it, they were standing before it. Even with Bruce gone, the suit seemed to carry a part of him, filling the room with a presense which reached out to him. Dick gulped. Beside him, Wally was staring at him intently, trying to gage a reaction, but Dick’s jaw only tightened. He was like his mentor that way.

“The thing about Batman and Robin is that it’s a legacy,” Wally said, recalling his words from earlier. Dick’s eyes never left the suit, and Wally’s never left him. “You passed on Robin to Jason and then Tim, and it made them better, didn’t it? It made you a family.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Batman is a legacy too, a mantle to be passed down. There can never be a Gotham without a Batman, not anymore, the city would fall. It needs Batman, Dick; it needs you.”

“But what if I’m not enough?” Dick finally asked. His eyes were still on the symbol in front of him, although they swam with water. The figure beside him moved closer, putting an arm crookedly around his neck and pressing warm lips to his temple. “I can’t be like Bruce, I d-don’t want to be. This place, Batman – it killed him.”

“You are enough,” Wally said simply, very close to his ear. “And I said you were like Bruce, not that you were him. You have his heart and his passion – but I loved you for you, Dick. Your optimism and light and your amazing butt is what sets you apart.”

Dick laughed weakly, the chuckle wet with emotion. The picture was still in Wally’s hand, crumpled, but he gave it to Dick now. The younger man looked at it and then tore his eyes up to Wally, looking at him like he was the sun.

“I . . . where did you get this from?”

“Downstairs. He kept it, all these years.”

“I didn’t think Bruce was that sentimental.”

Dick sounded disheartened again. The relationship between him and Bruce had gotten better over the past five years, from the wreck it was when he first became Nightwing, and he really missed his surrogate father. So much it burned. But he didn’t think that emotion had run both ways; to Dick, it felt as if there had been an abyss between him and Bruce for years now.

Wally sighed, knowing it was time to move forward, not back. He pointed to the picture, stepping away for a moment. “I want you to be Batman, not Bruce. Your own Batman. Do you remember that picture?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you know what to do,” Wally said, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t,” Dick shook his head helplessly, “I’m not sure. It’s too much.”

Wally wrapped his hand around Dick’s, lifting the picture until it was held in front of the Batman suit. In the picture, he was the one dressed up as something other than himself, but who he was still shone through in his red hair and the way he looked at his best friend like he could make the starts shine. It was easy. The next thing he said was simple.

“Your turn.”