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The first gray hair appeared on a Tuesday. Dick noticed it because he noticed everything. The morning sun spilled through the kitchen windows in warm rectangles across the floor, stain glass Wally had insisted was necessary, fracture the warm yellow into vibrants shards that warmed the tile. Wally stood at the store barefoot, wearing one of Dick’s old black shirts and a pair of sleep pants that had long since been stolen and claimed as his own. The shirt had a faded logo, where Dick got it he didn’t even remember.
The sleeves were pulled back as Wally flipped pancakes with the casual speed of someone who could run faster than sound. The kitchen smelled like butter and coffee. Dick sat at the table with a mug he hadn’t touched. He didn’t need coffee. He didn’t need food. But he liked the ritual of mornings, like the illusion of sharing something human.
Wally hummed quietly to himself, some pop song Dick vaguely recognized but couldn’t name. That was when Dick saw it. A single strand of silver near Wally’s temple. It caught the sunlight when Wally leaned forward to reach for the syrup.
Dick’s breath stilled. For a long moment he said nothing. Wally turned grinning, raising an eyebrow when he realized Dick was looking right at him, “you’re staring,” he said in a sing-song voice.
Dick blinked once, before he smoothed his expression back into something even, “I do that.”
“Yeah, but usually with a little more subtlety.”
“You’re getting pancake batter on my shirt,” Dick offered.
“Well,” Wally said defensively, “I am the one making breakfast.”
Dick tilted his head, “you make breakfast every morning.”
“Exactly. Which means it can’t be helped. A casualty of living.”
Dick huffed a quiet laugh. Wally plated the pancakes in a stack that was frankly ridiculous, then slid into the chair across from him with a bright, satisfied grin. Dick watched him carefully. Like someone memorizing a constellation. Freckles were scattered across Wally’s nose and cheeks, sun-warmed from yesterday’s run. His hair was still a little messy, sticking up in the back. But his smile was open and effortless, the kind Dick had spent decades convincing himself didn’t exist anymore.
And there it was.
That tiny silver thread again.
Dick forced himself not to stare.
Wally poured syrup across the pancakes like a man with no sense of moderation, “you’re quiet today.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
Dick lifted his mug even though he hadn’t taken a sip yet. Wally squinted at him, the way Dick’s eyes flickered back to the same spot. At first Wally ran his fingers through the messy strands, as if something was in it. However, his expression slowly shifted.
“Oh.”
Dick stilled.
“Oh,” Wally repeated slower.
Dick sighed softly, “don’t,” he pleaded quietly.
Wally ran his hand through his hair again, “is it bad?”
“It’s one hair.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Dick leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, “you’re aging,” he said calmly.
Wally stared at him, then snorted, “Dick.”
“Wally.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“You’re aging," Dick repeated.
“That’s how humans work.”
Dick didn’t answer. Wally studied him for a moment longer. Before reaching out and taking his hand, voice softer, “you noticed.”
The vampire's gaze flicked back to the strand again, “yes…”
Wally let go of him and leaned back in his own chair, stretching his arms behind his head, “well,” he said lightly, “I always wondered what I’d look like with gray hair.”
Dick’s throat tightened. Wally said it like it was a joke. Like it was nothing. Like time wasn’t something that moved differently for them. Dick looked down at the table, “I thought we’d have longer.”
Wally’s smile faded slightly. Neither of them said what they were thinking. Instead Wally shook his head, “again,” he said slowly, “I’m twenty-eight…you’re acting like I got my foot in the grave.”
Dick tried to smile, but it fell flat.
They had tried. It had started years ago. Back when the idea of forever had still felt easy. The promise that the two of them could grow together, watching the slow passage of time hand in hand. Only, there was one glaring problem. Vampirism slowed someone down, it made them a stagnant member of an always moving timeline. The Speedforce was a constantly moving thing, and Wally’s connection with it became an obstacle that neither of them had expected.
Wally’s metabolism quite literally burned through Dick’s venom. Dick remembered the night they had learned that. It was raining, Dick sitting in an armchair, head in his hands thinking about how any part of their predicament could have been possible.
His partner on the other hand was sprawled across the couch, feet hooked over the armrest, half upside down as he scrolled through something on his phone.
“I don’t understand,” Dick said, voice shaky, “it should have worked.”
Wally listened patiently, “I mean…I kind of figured it was a possibility,” he offered.
Dick didn’t like that answer. How were they supposed to exist together for eternity if one of them wasn’t immortal. The tension settled over the room, ice cold, thick and almost entirely suffocating. Until Wally caught his eye and shrugged, “well,” he said lightly.
Dick frowned, “well?”
“Well,” Wally looked back up with a crooked grin, “guess you’re just stuck with me until I get old and wrinkly.”
Of course Dick didn’t smile, “Wally.”
“I mean it,” Wally stretched and arm out, long fingers brushing against Dick’s forearm, “hey…you don’t get to start mourning me while I’m still here.”
His chest tightened and Wally squeezed his wrist, “we’re just doing this the human way.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, the grief in his expression still lingering, “the human way?”
“Yeah,” Wally moved to sit up on the couch, “we’ll live together. Domestic bliss. Grocery shopping. Movie nights.”
Dicks stared at him, Wally’s grin widened, “and when I’m old and gray and grumpy, you can carry me around dramatically like the tragic immortal husband you are.”
“You assume I’ll be dramatic?”
“You’re a vampire, Dick. Drama is literally in the job description.”
Dick shook his head, and pressed a slow kiss to Wally’s forehead, “not when I became one-”
Of course, that conversation felt so long ago. Because the years passed faster than Dick expected. They always did with humans. But with Wally it was different. Because Wally filled time so completely, it was impossible not to notice when he waivered. Their life together settled into something warm and deeply comfortable. Morning runs that Dick watched from rooftops before the sun fully rose. Late-night movies where Wally inevitably fell asleep halfway through.
Arguments about laundry.
Arguments about groceries.
Arguments about whether Dick could survive on synthetic blood alone. The answer was technically yes, but Dick still preferred the real thing occasionally.
Wally got a job. Then another. Then eventually settled into something steady. Dick stuck to free lancing, and investments, easy to do and work on without people asking too many questions. But occasionally he’d have to get his new identity prepped, a ritual he’d been doing long before Wally was even born.
But their home stayed the same. A little house on a quiet street. Plants Wally insisted on keeping alive. Books Dick collected endlessly, some so old their titles had been lost to time. Photos. So many photos. Wally insisted on those, photos captured light and not his reflection. There were enough to fill countless books of just the two of them.
It was strange to see his smiling face reflected back in an image sometimes.
The second gray hair appeared ten years later. Then another.
Then another.
Dick noticed every single one. Wally noticed none.
“You’re staring again,” Wally said, not looking up from his book.
Dick blinked, “what?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
Wally snorted, and let his eyes drift over to Dick, “the tragic vampire staring.”
Dick felt a little defensive at that, “that is not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Wally set his book down and squinted at him, “you do it when you think I’m not looking.”
Dick didn’t have an answer for him, but he knew how his expression looked because Wally gave him another exasperated sigh, “Dick,” he started.
“You’re thrity-nine,” he insisted.
Wally groaned, “don’t start.”
“You’re aging.”
“I am extremely aware of that.”
Dick looked away briefly. Wally stood up and crossed the room, stopping in front of Dick before gently reaching and touching his cheek. Dick leaned into the touch without thinking, “you know what I see,” Wally offered, voice gentle, barely above a whisper.
“What?”
Wally smiled, “the exact same man I fell in love with.”
Dick’s throat tightened.
Wally continued, “you don’t look too different.”
“You do.”
Wally shrugged, “of course I do, I’m human.”
Dick reached up, covering Wally’s hand with his own, “does it bother you?”
Wally tilted his head.
“Getting older?”
Dick nodded.
For a moment, his husband considered the question, his eyes drifting off into the distance. Dick listened as he drew in each breath, wisps of hair moving from the breeze lulling in from the open window. Eventually Wally had an answer, “not really.”
He frowned, “why?”
“Because,” Wally kissed Dick on the lips, short and sweet before giving him a peck on the cheek, “I’m doing it with you.”
That night, when they were in bed, Wally was deep asleep in his own world. Dick held him a little tighter, fighting back tears and the ache in his chest. Smooth skin pale and full of life underneath his hands, Wally’s heart beat clear as day in his ears. A reminder that he was tethered to this world.
The wrinkles came slowly. They always did. Smile lines at first. Then the corners of his eyes. Freckles merging softly across skin that had once been smooth and bright with youth. Dick watched them appear like the slow shifting of stars. He never mentioned them. But he noticed. Wally’s running slowed eventually too.
Not much, just enough. Wally noticed it the day he lost a race against Bart. The two of them were at the end of the track.
“Okay that’s rude,” Wally said, hands on his hips.
Bart grinned triumphantly, “you’re getting old.”
Dick watched from the bleachers. Wally pointed a finger at the young adult, “I could still outrun half the Justice League.”
The grin on Bart’s face got wider, “yeah…but you can’t outrun me.”
Wally sighed dramatically, “Dick.”
Dick looked up.
“Tell him he’s rude.”
He did everything in his power not to keep his voice from cracking, “he’s rude.”
Wally gestured to him, “see, I have the centuries old vampire agreeing with me. That counts for something!” Bart laughed, Dick watched Wally carefully. The silver strands were more visible now. Lines around his eyes. A softness settling into his movements. Still fast. Still bright. Still Wally.
But human.
Beautifully, painfully human.
The first time Wally’s hands trembled slightly when pouring coffee, Dick had to leave the room. It was a sudden gut wrenching feeling that made him sick. He stood outside on the porch for a long time. Listening. Watching the fragile rhythm of life moving forward. Without him. He pressed his hand to his mouth, and waited until the moment passed. Then he went back inside, and pretended he hadn’t noticed as Wally continued to sing to the morning radio, bacon frying in the pan.
Wally turned sixty-two on a quiet autumn morning. Wally didn’t throw a party, he claimed that he was too old for those now. Dick of course didn’t comment. Instead he made pancakes. Terrible ones. Wally laughed when he saw them, “did you burn my birthday pancakes?”
“Maybe,” Dick said sheepishly, already working on new ones.
“You’re a vampire. How do you burn pancakes?”
Dick sighed, “it happens sometimes.”
Wally laughed and rested his head on a propped up hand, “hey, you’re trying. That’s all that I care about.”
When he set the plate down with the new pancakes, golden and fluffy, Wally squeezed his hand in appreciation. Dick squeezed back, very carefully. Because Wally’s bones were thinner now. More fragile, and he didn’t want to hurt him.
The last gray hair Dick counted stopped at seventy-three. Not because there weren’t more. But because he stopped counting. It hurt too much to watch the silver turn into pristine white. Instead, he memorized the sound of Wally’s laugh. The warmth of his hand, the way his smile still softened the room even after time had written itself across his face.
Wally was watering the plants when he caught him staring again one night, “you’re doing it again.”
Dick didn’t even try to hide it, but he still played dumb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His partner set the little watering tin down with a soft thump, “you’re mapping my face.”
“I don’t want to forget it.”
Dick pressed a kiss to Wally’s forehead, and for a moment, just a moment. He let himself believe that forever could exist in smaller ways. He needed it too. Because life was moving around him quicker than he wanted it to, and he was watching the person he loved the most whither away.
It continued when Wally took longer to come up the stairs without pretending he wasn’t winded. It continued when his husband started keeping his glasses on a chain around his neck because he got tired of misplacing them, and Dick could hear the mild irritation he tried to disguise with humor.
Dick did his best to adjust around him without ever admitting that he was. He put rugs down in the hallways so that Wally wouldn’y slip when his balance was bad on a rainy day. He started buying goriceris in smaller trips, more frequent, so Wally wouldn’t insist on carrying the heavy bags. He learned the exact angle Wally’s shoulder liked to be supported at night, how a pillow folded just so eased the ache in his back.
Of course Wally caught on. But he never made it a fight or a big deal. He just…looked at Dick sometimes, like he knew Dick was trying to build a dam with his bare hands, only Dick was fighting an ocean and not a creak. And Wally loved him anyway.
The hundredth birthday happened because Wally insisted.
“Okay, hear me out,” Wally said one evening, sitting in his rocking hair, attention drifting away from his book. He had that familiar glint in his eyes, older now, softened by time, but still mischievous, “we do a birthday like a proper milestone.”
Dick gaze stayed on Wally’s hands. A little spotted with age, a little more delicate.
“No,” Dick said simply.
Wally blinked and raised a bushy white eyebrow, “no?”
“No,” Dick repeated, deadpan.
Wally stared at him like he’d just watched Dick commit a personal offense, “Dick Grayson.”
Dick’s expression warped into something pitiful, like a kicked puppy. Wally was unphased, “I have spent many of my birthday quietly celebrating. Who are you to deny me my right to be obnoxious about being a hundred?”
His throat tightened, and Wally knew why. Because he closed his book and leaned back. Dick’s jaw worked once, “I don’t want-” he started.
“I know,” Wally interrupted softly, “I know what you don’t want.” His thumb brushed over Dick’s knuckles, slow and familiar, “and my love, you’ve done so well and have been so patient and I know how hard this has been…”
Wally sucked in a breath that seemed to rattle throughout his whole body, “I just…I want a party. I want people, I want noise and stupid hats, and a cake that tastes like sugar and something I definitely shouldn’t be eating at my old age.”
Dick’s mouth twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile he could muster. Wally’s eyes crinkled with it, “and-” , he leaned forward, “I want to look at you across a room full of people and feel stupidly proud that I got to love you. I haven’t done that in quite some time.”
He swallowed and Wally smiled ear to ear, “let me have that,” he said, but it felt more like a gentle plea than a demand. Dick’s fingers curled around Wally’s hand.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Wally’s grin was immediate, bright as ever, “can I convince you to wear something bright and colorful?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Wally.”
“Dick,” Wally said back with a victorious glint, “it’s my hundredth birthday. You can’t argue with me.”
Dick exhaled, and this time he did laugh. It tasted like salt behind his teeth. It sounded like surrender. Because Wally’s hundredth birthday party was held in their backyard, under strings of warm lights that turned the later afternoon into something honeyed and unreal. Wally had insisted on doing it outside, he wanted to see the sky and all the stars in it. Even if Dick made him wear an extra sweater to keep him warm. The yard was full of voices. Family. Friends. The generations of speedsters that still circled Wally like loyal satellites. A scattering of old Titans who looked at Wally with a kind of fond reverence, as if he was a story they’d lived through. There was a banner that read ‘HAPPY 100TH, WALLANCE!’ In obnoxiously bright letters.
Wally loved the banner and Dick would admit…it was charming. Even with the sweater. Wally sat in a chair with a blanket over his knees, wearing a ridiculous paper crown someone had forced on his head. His hair was thin and completely white now, swept back neatly the way Dick had done it that morning.
His freckles were faded, but some lingered if you knew where to look. Dick knew where to look. When with Wally’s face lined. Wrinkled deep and etched by a century of grinning at the universe. He looked happy. And Dick felt like the ground under him was made of paper. He moved through the party like a shadow. Smiling, greeting old friends, and meeting the newer proteges that had been exposed to Wally through his old Flash mentor days.
It was a muddled mess of people. Some knew who he was. Others saw Dick as more of the party host. Someone, one of Wally’s nieces, Dick thought, or maybe a grand-niece, the lineage was complicated now, leaned close to Wally with a camera.
“Okay, Uncle Wally, hold still,” she said cheerfully, “we need a picture of you and-”
Her eyes landed on Dick. She paused, as if she couldn’t remember where Dick fit into the story, “I’m sorry…you’re-” she asked, like she was trying to place him in a family tree that didn’t have room.
Dick felt it like a knife, gentle and deep. Wally turned his head slowly, following her gaze. His eyes found Dick. And for a second something passed between them. They’d had the conversation not too long ago, about how Dick was going to have to change his identity soon enough, before too many questions.
Wally raised his hand and ushered Dick forward, "He's the nephew of a dear friend of mine,” he chimed. That seemed to be a good enough answer for the niece because she snagged him into the picture, letting him stand right next to Wally. As the camera flashed, Dick recalled a conversation they’d had in the kitchen months ago; Wally still had the strength to stand then, when he asked Dick if he would stay till the end.
Without a second thought Dick made that promise.
The cake was obscene, three layers, red velvet, with white frosting and little sugar lightning bolts around the edges. Someone had taken the time to light a hundred candles. Dick was fairly certain this was some kind of fire hazard. Wally of course was delighted.
“That’s going to burn the house down,” Dick said through a smile as the cake was situated in front of Wally. The crowd chanted as Wally leaned forward, “worth it,” he teased.
Dick watched Wally’s cheeks puff slightly as he drew in a breath. He’d seen Wally outrun explosions, seen him punch through impossible odds, seen him snatch lives from the edge of death with hands that moved faster than light. And yet…A hundred candles made his breath hitch. Just for a moment.
Wally blew and the flames fluttered out in waves. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Wally offered Dick a shameless little wink, “nailed it.”
Dick smiled, because Wally always made smiling feel natural and shameless. Someone handed Wally the first slice, he took a bite and made a face, “oh my god,” Wally said, scandalized, “this is way too sweet.”
Everyone laughed. Dick watched Wally chew slowly, watched his throat move as he swallowed. Watched the pulse at his neck. Still there. Still beating. Still counting down. Wally caught his gaze and lifted his fork like a toast. Dick dipped his head in response. Guests left in waves and with solemn goodbyes, Wally made sure everyone left with a smile on their face.
That evening Dick cleaned up while Wally remained on the back patio, eyes closed as the wind moved over his body. From the kitchen sink, Dick could see out back. His eyes almost always trailing back to his husband. Dick had to coax Wally inside, promising an episode of their favorite trivia show. They laughed and guessed the question together, horribly incorrect in most cases.
And when they went to bed, Dick helped Wally onto the mattress, and he still held him tight into the night.
In the weeks after Wally’s birthday, the decline became less subtle. Wally’s body, stubborn as it had always been, finally started losing arguments with time. He slept more. A lot more. He started eating less, not because he didn’t want to but because his appetite simply faded. His hands shook more, Dick thought back to the first time he saw them quiver when pouring coffee.
His knees complained, his breaths came shallower some nights. Dick adapted, always. Quietly. Ruthlessly.
He installed handrails. He moved their bedroom downstairs without calling it what it was. He started keeping Wally’s medications lined up in a neat row on the counter, even though he didn’t need them to be lined up. Even though he could remember them perfectly.
He cooked soups. He read aloud. He sat beside Wally in the afternoons while Wally dozed, letting his hand rest against Dick’s wrist like a tether. Sometimes Wally would wake and look at him like he’d just remembered something important. Like Dick was a miracle that had somehow stayed.
Sometimes Wally would smile and say, “hi.”
Like Dick had just arrived. Dick always answered the same way, “hi,” he’d say back, soft and steady. As if it was the first time too.
The end came on an evening that looked ordinary. That was the cruelest part. The sunset was soft pink and gold, bleeding through the stained glass Wally had insisted on years ago. The shards of color painted the walls in gentle fragments, as if the house itself was trying to hold onto the warmth that had lingered there effortlessly for years.
Wally laid in bed, propped up against pillows.
Dick sat beside him, one hand holding Wally’s, the other resting lightly on his chest os he could feel his heartbeat without needing to press his ear to skin. Wally’s breaths were slow. His eyes were open, though; bright even through the haze of exhaustion. Dick leaned forward and brushed his lips against Wally’s knuckles.
When Dick looked down at him, all he could feel were tears in his eyes as he tried to smile through it, to take the moment in with his partner, the love of his life, the person he had spent so many wonderful, cherished years with.
“Hey,” Wally whispered.
Dick swallowed.
“Hey.”
Wally’s gaze drifted over his face, slow and tender. Like he was mapping Dick now. Like he was memorizing him in return.
“You’re doing the thing,” Wally murmured, voice barely there.
Dick tried to smile, but it came out broken, “what thing?”
“The…tragic vampire stare.”
Dick huffed a shaky breath. Wally smiled, and then he sighed, “Did I ever tell you…” Wally started, then paused, as if the words were heavy.
Dick moved closer, “what?”
Wally’s eyes fluttered, then focused again, “I’m glad it didn’t work,” he whispered. Dick froze. His grip on Wally’s hand tightened before he could stop it.
“Wally-”
“No, listen,” Wally murmured quickly, like he was afraid Dick would argue and his words would be waisted, “if it worked…if I became like you-”
Wally swallowed, his throat bobbed gently, “I think I would’ve hated it,” he admitted, “not because of you. Never because of you. But because…” he exhaled slowly, “because I loved running. I loved being, movement. I loved being alive like a spark.”
Dick’s eyes burned, he’d done so good throughout all these years of holding the tears back, of holding the grief out of sight. No matter how many times he and Wally had talked about it, it had always seemed manageable until now.
“And I got my forever anyway,” Wally added, voice trembling slightly, “just…my kind of forever.”
Dick’s throat tightened so hard it hurt. Wally’s thumb brushed Dick’s knuckles. Wally made a face that twisted into regret for a moment, “I’m sorry if you ever felt like I made you push this down…all these years.”
“No,” Dick sniffed, immediately clutching Wally tighter, “no, I’m just grateful I got so much time with you.”
Wally’s hand was warm in his. Warm. Still warm, “Dick,” Wally whispered. Dick looked at him, his love looked so tired. So present.
“I’m not scared.”
Dick shook his head, tears finally spilling, “I am,” he admitted, voice broken.
Wally’s eyes softened with something like pity and love tangled together, “I know,” he whispered, “I know.”
His breaths grew slower. Dick felt it. The space between beats stretching. The rhythm changing. He tightened his hold on Wally’s hand, careful not to hurt him. Wally’s eyes drifted, then focused again with effort.
“Dick?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me you’ll…keep living,” he said, voice barely there, “like properly.”
Dick shook his head, his own breaths becoming more shallow and frantic, the panic clutching every part of his body, like it knew his world was ending. Wally squeezed his hand, faint but there, “promise me,” he urged softly.
Dick’s mouth trembled, “I-”
“Promise,” Wally whispered. Dick closed his eyes. The old ache surged, carving into his chest, a thing that felt foreign in his body.
“I promise,” he whispered, the words coming out between silent sobs. Wally exhaled, relieved. Then his gaze softened completely, “good.”
His thumb brushed Dick’s knuckles one last time. And then he breathed, and released the air on a sigh: quiet and content. Like someone settling into bed after a long day. Dick felt the beat beneath his palm slow.
Slow.
Slower.
And then…nothing.
Dick stayed perfectly still. For a moment he couldn’t understand the silence. The house felt too large. The stained glass light still fractured across the wall in warm shapes, indifferent. Dick stared at Wally’s face. At the lines he’d memorized. At the freckles softened and blurred by time. At the mouth that had smiled at him for almost a century. He waited for the next breath. It didn’t come.
Dick’s hand remained on Wally’s chest. Waiting. As if he could will the heartbeat back into existence. His eyes burned. His throat ached. And when the first sob tore out of his chest, he finally cried. Wailing as he reflected on all the years he’d spent with someone so wonderful. Every lazy morning, and stressful evening. His chest felt it was going to cave in. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he pressed a kiss to Wally’s forehead. Long. Reverent.
A goodbye made of devotion and denial.
Years later, too many years later, Dick stood at another family reunion. A celebration of life for Wallace West. Children ran in the grass, shrieking with laughter, chasing each other in looping circles.
A small boy with wild red hair, tugged at the sleeve of the woman beside him. Dick recognized her as Wally’s niece, the same one that asked him who he was all those years ago.
“Mom,” the boy asked, pointing bluntly at Dick, “who’s that?”
The woman looked over. Her eyes lingered on Dick for a moment too long, confusion hitting before recognition, “he’s the nephew of one of your great uncle’s friends.”
Dick nodded once. The boy grinned brightly, as if this was the coolest news he heard all day, “he was cool,” he declared confidently, as if he’d known him, “Mom says he was the fastest. But Uncle Bart says he was faster. I don’t believe her.”
Dick’s chest tightened, before he nodded, “you’re mom’s right.”
The boy tilted his head, “did you know him when he was old?”
Dick’s mouth opened. He could have told the truth. Could have talked about his favorite morning breakfast, or how he always insisted on buying blood sausage for Dick even when he hated the stuff. Instead, Dick let the lie settle gently into place, another brick in the wall that kept him alive.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “I did.”
The boy beamed, “was he nice?”
Dick’s smile trembled at the edges, “he was…the best person I ever met.”
The boy nodded, as if that confirmed something important, then sprinted off to join the other children. The woman lingered for a second longer, “I’m glad you came,” she offered, letting the words hang between the two of them, “it’s always nice to see how many different people someone impacted.”
Dick nodded in agreement, looking around at the relatives and people, “yeah. It is.”
He caught the glint of lantern light on a patch of grass, and he remembered stained glass fragmented across a kitchen floor. A single gray hair catching the light. Years that had passed too fast. A promise that hurt to keep. Dick turned and walked away before anyone could ask more questions, before anyone could look too closely at the man who didn’t age. He stepped out the back gate and made his way to the front lawn.
The wind around him shifted, moving through the trees with a sudden flair. Dick barely dodged a slew of drifting leaves. For a moment, he thought he heard laughter. Bright. Fast. Familiar. It stopped Dick dead in his tracks. His chest ached with something that was almost hope. He looked back, let his ears recalibrate.
But in the aftermath all he could hear were children, their shrieks drifting off into the night sky. He lifted his hand to his mouth, a habit he’d never shaken, and let the grief pass through him like weather. Then he kept walking. Because he had promised.