Work Text:
Wally
Happy Valentine’s Day babe
Sorry I cant be there
Me
Happy Valentine’s Day to you too
You’re all good I’ll see you on Monday anyway, have fun!
Love you 💕
Wally
Love you too
💖💞💖
Dick sighs gently, tossing his phone aside. He misses Wally dearly and today it is especially apparent. Sun streams through his bedroom window in gaping strips, arching across his brown skin in lazy gold. It’s already noon and his bones ache but he’s excited.
Bruce had asked everyone to have dinner tonight. Surprisingly, everyone was actually able to go. More surprisingly, everyone had said they would go.
Dick had driven down from Blud to Gotham yesterday night after work and had gotten in horribly late. Cass and Steph would be getting there around 3 and Jason at 4, Tim, Duke, and Damian were already at the manor obviously.
Something thumps outside his door, followed quickly by a very Damian-esque hiss to be quiet.
“Hello?” Dick calls, sleep catching on the edges of his voice and roughening it into a croak.
The door swings open. “It is noon,” Damian states, blinks and bats at somebody behind him when they ruffle his hair, “you said I could wake you now if you were not already awake.”
Grinning, Dick raises his arm, inviting Damian to lay down wordlessly.
Damian seems to brighten and he hurries to scurry under the covers and tuck himself against Dick’s chest. Floorboards creak outside the door and Duke and Tim peer in at them.
Dick huffs, “Well, children?”
Tim is quick in his path to sit down on the bed, swinging his legs up to sit cross legged with the blanket over his lap and side and thigh pressed against Dick’s back. Duke is much more hesitant, but he makes it to the end of the bed where he curls up at Dick and Damian’s feet, head propped up on Dick’s calf.
This trust and familiarity has taken a long time to procure, but Dick is of the opinion that it was well worth it.
They stay like that for a long while, tossing idle chatter back and forth, Tim eventually laying down and Duke stretching out so his legs are tangled in Tim’s. Damian doesn’t move much, just hooks an arm around Dick’s waist to grab hold of Tim’s wrist.
Sometime after one o’clock, Alfred knocks on the doorframe, expression gentle and he coaxes them out of bed firmly.
When they finally reach the kitchen, clambering over each other, knocking shoulders and hips, and elbows digging into stomachs, it’s nearly two. Dick smiles softly at the sight of the pancakes laid out for them. Syrup coats the homemade chocolate pancakes in a shiny glaze. They’re vegan, obviously.
Damian might occasionally enjoy a warm glass of milk or hot chocolate, but he prefers to eat vegan.
The pancakes practically melt on his tongue. Sticky syrup coats the back of his knuckles by the end of his meal. The result of reaching over to stop Damian from flicking a spoonful of syrup at Tim.
Duke yawns, smacking his lips together overdramatically. “So,” he starts, absently stacking his dishes together so they’ll be easier to carry, “when are the rest of us supposed to get here?”
Dick shovels a bite of a second helping of pancakes into his mouth. Across from him, Tim grins, nudging Duke gently, “Cass and Steph in like half an hour and Jason at four probably.”
“Actually,” a new voice chimes in, “Cass and Steph are already here.”
Dick swivels around to see Stephanie standing with her arms crossed and a grin across her face. Cass is standing next to her, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
“Got back early,” Steph continues, an easy grin slung across her face. Dick is up and moving before she finishes, pulling both of them into a tight hug. After a moment Cass pushes at him gently, extricating herself from his grip gracefully and pulling Steph with her.
“Welcome home,” he murmurs, breath rattling in his lungs.
Duke is standing behind Cass, smiling fondly. He drapes an arm over Steph’s shoulder, asks cheerfully, “Have you eaten?”
Cass nods, already tugging Damian up out of his seat and into her arms. She pulls away briefly, signs her greetings and then pulls him right back in. Tim stands and hugs Steph loosely before walking over to Cass and Damian to get his own hug.
Pulling Duke with her, Stephanie calls over her shoulder, “We’re gonna go set up the projector, anyone want to come?”
Cass and Tim both wave at them to go on without them but Damian stands and follows. Dick sighs.
“Masters Richard, Timothy, Miss Cassandra why don’t you three go on out and prepare the drawing room for guests,” Alfred murmurs, already gathering Duke and Damian’s abandoned plates, “I will pick up here.”
Dick hesitates, “Are you sure, Al? We can help.”
Alfred smiles warmly, “I am sure. Now, shoo.”
Cass and Tim are already standing and Dick pauses just briefly to set his silverware on plate and to drain his mug of coffee.
The drawing room is really just a fancy living room according to Duke, Jason, and Steph. Most of the other kids never exactly had a conventional living room.
“When is Wally getting back?” Tim asks as they’re pulling open curtains and fluffing pillows. Cass is working on lighting the fireplace.
Dick hums, “Day after tomorrow I think. As long as there aren’t any delays.”
Rummaging around in a closet tucked into the corner of the room, Tim pulls out a stack of board games, a deck of cards and a basket full of DVD cases.
Cass taps out a short rhythm against the stone of the mantle to get their attention. She holds up the TV remote, the question rather obvious.
“Knock yourself out,” Dick answers. Tim shoots her a thumbs up.
With a surprisingly bright grin she glides over to the couch, settling herself in quickly and turning in the TV and pulling up Netflix. As the low murmur of her favorite TV show, a somewhat crappy long running show started in the early aughts, fills the room Tim finished setting out the board games and other stuff he pulled out of the closet on the coffee table.
Dick checks the fire quickly and turns on the sound system, waiting a moment to make sure that the sound switches over to it before tossing Cass the remote for it.
Tim starts laying out a game of Solitaire over the coffee table where he sits on the floor and Dick curls up on the couch with Cass, throwing a blanket over the both of them.
It doesn’t take long for Duke and Steph to show up. They settle themselves in the matching armchairs to the left of the couch and pull out one of the TV trays that’s kept tucked against one of the bookshelves. A roaring game of Battleship is started soon enough, though kept quiet enough to not distract from the TV show.
Eventually, at the beginning of the second episode they’ve watched, Damian walks in, a sketchbook and pencils tucked under his arm, beelining for the couch and squirming his way in between Cass and Dick.
It’s quiet like that for a bit. About halfway through the episode the door to the drawing room gets flung open and Jason bursts in.
“I,” he announces, “am ten minutes early!”
Dick laughs, standing to greet his oldest little brother in a tight hug, “Hey, J.”
“What’re we watching?”
Cass smiles and signs, ‘Supernatural.’
“Oh, god,” Jason groans, tossing his head back in exasperation, “do we have to?”
“We could play War,” Tim says, carefully finishing out a fifth game of Solitaire.
“Or we could pull out Monopoly,” Duke calls. Steph has just sunk his second to last ship.
Damian throws a book from who knows where at Jason, “Read this.”
When Jason flips the book around after a moment of fumbling he’s pleasantly surprised to find a copy of Pride and Prejudice.
“Thanks, kid,” he says, already shuffling over to the last free seating, a plush loveseat settled across from the armchairs.
Dick blinks. Cass is turning back to the TV and Duke and Steph are thoroughly engrossed in their game of Battleship, the rest are all just as invested in their activities. He ends up swaying back to the couch, not a single gaze watching him.
Something crashes in the hallway. Dick is halfway to the door before he realizes no one is following. He pauses, tilts his head and asks, voice shaking, “You hear that?”
It takes a long moment but eventually Jason looks up, “Hear what?”
The door creaks open and Alfred walks through. “Dinner will be ready in an hour,” he announces. He stands there, waiting for something or another. Eventually, Dick speaks, “Alfred?”
“Yes, Master Richard?”
Dick is vaguely aware of Cass standing to press a hand to his forehead. ‘You sick?’ she asks. He ignores her. “Where’s Bruce?”
Alfred smiles, “He’ll be back soon. Nothing to be worried about, my dear boy.”
Dick’s chest is aching now, his pulse thudding in his throat. “Where’s Bruce?”
His phone chimes and when he pulls it out Wally’s messaged him saying he’s getting back early. Early from where?
Dick grits his teeth and swivels on his heel. Jason has drifted to the couch but aside from that no one has moved. Steph has just sunk Duke’s second to last ship.
“Are you okay, Richard?” Damian asks, standing next to Cass. They exchange worried glances.
Dick steps back. Tim is just finishing out his fifth game of Solitaire. “Want to play War?” he calls.
“Master Richard, would you like to help me set the table?”
“Dick, what’s got you in a fuss?”
“We could pull out Monopoly!”
“You good, man?”
Something is wrong .
Dick bolts, rushing past Alfred before the butler can stop him. He ends up in his bedroom, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his arms.
Sun streams through his window in gaping strips, arching across his room in lazy gold.
His clock blinks noon. On his nightstand his cellphone begins to ring. He answers.
“Hey, Dick,” Wally’s greets warmly, “how’s your day going?”
For a single gasping moment it’s all Dick can do to heave a breath in and then out. Wally hums a note of concern. “Weird,” Dick finally settles on, “I think, I think something’s really wrong, Wally.”
Someone knocks on his door. The clock chimes in the hallway. Wally says, “I’m sure everything’s okay.”
“Master Richard, dinner is ready,” Alfred calls.
“Dick?”
He heaves another breath, “Yeah?”
“We finished up early. Any chance there’s a place for me at the Wayne table?”
Dick sighs, this is familiar, this ease of conversing with Wally. “Yeah, for sure.”
“Ok, good,” Wally murmurs, “ I have to change before I can head over, but I’ll be there in a flash.”
Dick presses a hand to his mouth, muffling the weak chuckle that threatens to escape.
“Ok, love you, see you soon, Wally.”
Wally pauses just long enough that Dick thinks he’s already hung up, gently though, he adds, “Love you too. Hey, and don’t worry, I’m sure Bruce is around there somewhere.”
Wally hangs up. Dick drops his phone like it’s molten steel. He never told Wally what exactly was bothering him.
There’s another knock on his door, this one far more insistent.
Dick stands on shaking legs. Something is so deeply, terribly wrong .
“Master Richard?”
“Just,” he tries, that deep sense of wrongness hitching his voice, “just a minute.”
His phone buzzes.
The clock is blinking 5:00 p.m..
“Dick! Dinner’s ready and Alfred isn’t letting us eat without you!” Jason yells from outside the door.
His shoulder aches something fierce, reminiscent of a stab wound he got a few months back from a mugger. Damian hadn’t let it go for a month that an untrained civilian had gotten the jump on him.
He stumbles to his feet, hands slipping across the doorknob for a minute before he manages a proper twist.
“Is Bruce home?”
Tim smiles at him. “Nah, not yet,” he cocks his head to the side, “but I think Wally just got here.”
“Oh, ok.”
Downstairs is eerily quiet, but as soon as the thought crosses Dick’s mind pleasant chatter from the dining room fills his ears. Alfred is standing at the bottom of the stairs talking quietly with a familiar red-haired figure.
Wally turns almost immediately, smiling briefly at Damian where he stands next to Dick before sweeping his boyfriend up into a tight hug.
He pulls away after a moment just to duck down and press his lips to Dick’s. Dick’s eyes flutter closed. Wally’s lips are chapped and rough, they feel electric against his. His eyes open.
Wally wraps an arm over Jason’s shoulders, grinning at the younger man brightly.
Wrong.
Wasn’t Wally just here?
Dick’s eyes widen. Where’s Damian?
The dining room is completely silent.
Something shrieks and shatters. The lights flicker.
Dick wakes with a gasp.
He has this horrible, dreadful feeling of falling that clutches at him in a tight unrelenting grip. Crisp sheets rattle silence as he thrashes awake and tubes and wires quickly tangle.
Blessedly, a cool hand grips his bicep. Dick shudders, falling still at the touch.
“You’re ok,” a familiar voice murmurs, curling through his ears like a heady smoke, “can you open your eyes, love?” The hand retracts, carefully picking at the wires and tubes and gently peeling them away as they untangle.
Dick shudders, prying his eyes open is an effort. The lights are dim and he can barely make out the shadow of Wally’s face. Curly red hair flops down over his eyes, untamed and clearly unwashed for long enough to become greasy, dark shadows rim his boyfriend’s eyes and his skin seems to have a light sheen of sweat.
“Wally?” Dick manages.
“Yeah,” Wally whispers, “I’m here. We’re in the Batcave.”
Dick blinks, long and slow, barely managing to tear his eyes back open.
“Where’s-” he stops, dry throat cutting him off harshly. Wally swivels, stuttering around for a moment before carefully presenting a glass of water with a plastic straw sticking out.
The water is cool against his throat, soothing a parched throat and cracked lips. He runs his tongue along his lips, tries again, “Where’s Bruce?”
Wally hums, draws the glass away and sets it on some surface out of sight. “Upstairs. Want me to get him?”
Dick nods, desperately ignoring the ache in his shoulder.
Wally stands, brushes a slow kiss across Dick’s forehead. The scent of petrichor fills the room between one blink and the next. Wally’s image wavers and suddenly he has Bruce by the arm, both of their hair windswept and cheeks ruddy.
Dick exhales his relief in a single breath, hands already reaching forward to grasp at-
The dining room is completely silent.
Wally is standing next to him, familiar green eyes a deep crimson, something immeasurable in his expression. He whispers, as if speaking of something sacred, “I’m sorry you fought it. This is much kinder than what truly exists.”
Dick nods, he knows he agrees with whatever those words mean, but he can’t quite pin down what they mean.
“Goodnight, Dick.”
Sleep aches at the edges of his vision, dragging him up and out rapidly. He surfaces with a flounder. Before he knows it red hair fills his vision and hands are fluttering rapidly over him, inspecting for injury.
Something sharp digs into his back, pain is a large sweep across his shoulder, another jagged line crossing over his calf. “Nightwing,” someone urges, “you need to get up.”
Tears burn his skin. He opens his eyes, it’s as easy as breathing. “Flash,” he mutters, awareness already dragging him by the ankle, “what happened?”
Wally’s already helping him to his feet, helping support his weight. Even with his injuries they need to get out of there. Especially with his injuries.
Wally’s voice is still quiet, a blessing with the raging headache building in Dick’s temples, “You tell me. One second you’re fine, the next you’re collapsing mid-punch. I mean I know you’re injured, but this was something else.”
Something occurs to Dick. “Bruce is dead.” It’s not a question.
Wally winces, “Ah, a toxin then. Hallucigen?”
“I think,” and he has to pause here, survey the ruins of the apartment complex they’re carefully picking their way out of, “I think it had something to do with happiness. It- I don’t think it could show me dead people though. Or, at least, showing them to me caused it to collapse.”
Wally frowns, staring down at a large piece of rubble that will probably be impossible to scale unless he uses his speed.
“I want to go home,” Dick murmurs.
Wally steels himself and picks Dick up bridal style in one smooth movement. “Let’s go home then.”
Dick blinks, lightning blinding him for a moment. When the afterimages fade he sees their bedroom in their apartment in Gotham. Wally sets him down on the bed carefully and disappears for a moment before reappearing sans Flash suit and in shorts and a tank-top instead. He’s armed with a med kit and a box of chocolates.
The chocolates get set on the dresser, but Wally hands Dick his own pair of shorts and turns to offer him privacy to change. Somehow, Dick manages to fumble his way out of the tattered Nightwing suit and into the Flash-themed basketball shorts.
Wally turns as soon the Nightwing suit hits the hamper. He’s a blur of movement as he rushes to Dick’s side, med kit already popped open. Tending to the wounds is a quick affair between both of their experience and Wally’s speed. Eventually, Wally settles next to Dick on the bed, helping him pull on a loose t-shirt that won’t irritate the wound on his shoulder.
“You should sleep, love, we can figure everything out tomorrow.”
Dick ducks his head, picking at a stray thread on his shirt. “He was alive , Walls,” tears are burning his throat again, “alive.”
Tenderly, Wally pulls Dick to his chest, dipping his head down to press his mouth and nose into his boyfriend’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m so sorry.”
This moment is so real it aches. There is no falling out of this reality. Bruce is dead.
When Wally rises to grab the chocolates off the dresser Dick can’t help but smile.
“I know it won’t help,” he starts, gaze fixed on Dick’s, “but, happy Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry this one was so bad.”
Dick peels the box away from Wally’s tight grip and sets it on the nightstand, “Thank you,” he tips forward, so his head rests on Wally’s shoulder and then drags them both down onto the bed, “I love you so much.”
Wally wraps Dick up in his arms, extricating the blankets out from underneath them and over them instead. “I love you more.”
Shaking his head lightly, Dick presses himself closer, ghosting a kiss over Wally’s jaw, “Goodnight, my love.” Wally pulls him ever closer. Dick falls asleep to the gentle sound of Wally’s humming. He does not dream.