YEAH YOUNG JUSTICE SEASON 3
(although this is set pre-s1 whoops, with very vague references to abuse.)
(also I haven't used FFnet in ages so... this formatting was not fun lmfao let's all hope it worked.)
It's a warm Thursday afternoon when Wally turns up at the Wayne Manor's doorstep.
The sun is going down behind him, highlighting his bright hair that's in all different directions, currently being pushed back by the goggles that belong with his uniform. He's in his civvies, though, which leads Dick to assume Wally had thrown the goggles on, which he only does for longer runs, but didn't bother to change entirely. Meaning he had gotten out of a situation frantically, desperately.
His eyes are alight, but unfocused, darting rapidly from Dick to anything that's in his surroundings. His fingers are twitching, a sign that he has a lot of pent up nervous or angry energy, on the rare days that he gets it, on the rarer days where a run can't clear his head entirely.
Dick steps aside from the doorway, gesturing for Wally to come in. Wally's been to the Manor a few times now, having learned of Dick's identity a few months ago, but he rarely ever shows up uninvited. Scared, perhaps, of Bruce - regardless, it's something that Dick has yet to figure out.
So the days that he does turn up uninvited - but never unwelcomed - with burned shoes, with wild hair and frantic eyes and twitching fingers, Dick has learned that is means Wally is really not quite okay.
It's a rare thing, with the speedster, at least to show it outwardly like this. Dick has learned when Wally is internalising - jokes, fake laughter, trying to avert focus by flirting instead with a girl he really has no interest in anyway. And Dick doesn't know, yet, how to help him on those days. When he refuses, so goddamn stubbornly, to ever admit what's got him worried.
But today, showing up at the Wayne Manor, Dick knows how to help. At least a little bit. Until Wally's fingers stop twitching, until he pushes back the goggles from his hair and runs his fingers through it to try and tame it, until he jokes about how religious he now is because of how holey his shoes are.
Dick knows to waste no time asking if he's okay, because he won't get a response, just a jerked nod with his head. Dick knows to just give a small smile, but not to touch him until he's calmed down a little more.
Bruce is out, but Alfred is around, and Alfred knows not to say anything, not quite yet, not until Wally has stopped pacing the floorboards anxiously. That's when he can pipe in, asking if all is alright, offering food.
Which Wally will take, eventually. Once he's confident that his fingers won't shake anymore. Sometimes, it can take hours. They're willing to wait.
So Dick just gives a small thumbs up to Alfred as he passes him, heading to his room, with Wally following right behind.
Dick doesn't shut the door behind him, not completely, because Wally is jumpy on the best of days, and runs on the worst of days. Shut doors and enclosed rooms aren't going to do anything except heighten Wally's need to do so.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't expect anything to be said - not yet.
So he sits down at the chair with desk, twisting the chair from left to right as casually as he can. Watching, carefully, as Wally begins to pace.
They're young, and Dick's even younger, but some days he looks at Wally, looks in the mirror and thinks the world has already done so much to us.
Dick's no longer facing Wally, having turned to his computer a few minutes into Wally's pacing. He's not doing much, just idly scrolling through news headlines that aren't sinking in anyway.
The pacing changes in speed every few minutes. From a rapid-pace of a normal person to the rapid pace of a speedster. Dick listens to the rhythm change, waiting, and wondering absently if his floorboards are going to have marks in them.
He waits for the rhythm to stop entirely, counts to ten, then turns around. Wally has stopped, hands clenched by his sides, staring down at the floor.
Dick counts to ten, then backwards from ten, then goes until negative ten before going back to zero and repeating. He's at three when Wally's hands unclench, at nine when he takes a deep breath, back down to five when he speaks.
"I'm scared of a lot, you know," Wally says, quietly, his eyes slowly dragging up to meet Dick's gaze.
He makes sure his expression doesn't change, makes sure he doesn't show that his heart is beating wildly, that is thoughts are whirring.
The pacing starts up again, but at a slow, normal walking speed. His hands begin to fly out animatedly, his voice beginning to ramble until he's struggling to remember to breathe properly.
"I was called reckless today. By Uncle Barry. I mean, it's fair, because I totally just jumped into the fray without a second thought. And I know I'm still learning a lot, I know I still have to improve on so, so much but - my first thought, my only thought, was to help him, when Cold started getting the better of him."
Wally stops, shaking his head.
"I mean, I know Cold didn't actually really have the better of him. But I was just on the sidelines, and all the civilians were clear, and I wasn't doing anything to help. I could've! I should have done something else, I should have thought about what I was going to do before I did it."
The pacing resumes.
"But Uncle Barry slipped and Cold was ready for another strike and I was just there, on the sideline. I didn't know, I didn't think, I just. Made sure that damn freeze gun or whatever the hell it is, that it was no longer in his hands."
"And yeah, maybe, I shouldn't have done it by tackling Cold. Dumb move, I know! Millions of better ways! Uncle Barry drilled a few into me after that. But mostly he just drilled in the fact that even with our speed, we still have to think."
"We can't afford to get reckless. I know it. Uncle Barry asked me why I did it, why I tackled him. I said I wasn't scared of doing it. Don't know what I was thinking."
Stops again, Wally letting out a self deprecating laugh.
"He said that was reckless thinking, and dangerous too. I know it is. He said that not being scared is a mistake, because being scared makes sure we don't do anything too impulsive or harmful, to ourselves or others."
"I was scared, when I tackled him. I thought of all the different ways it could have gone wrong. I didn't want to admit it, so I lied, and I still don't want to admit it."
And Dick knows, because Wally is loud and obnoxious and confident and vibrant - and Dick knows that Wally thinks that he isn't allowed to be scared, to be intimidated or shy. But he's here now, talking about it Dick, so he'll take the small victories.
"I'm scared of a lot of things. People don't realise it. People that aren't you, I guess, who I tell or you seem to figure it out anyway. Scared of small spaces, for example. Scared that if I'm reckless, I'll use my speed incorrectly and end up breaking some dude's jaw instead of just a normal punch. Scared that if I tackle someone, I might break every bone in their body."
Wally takes a shuddering breath. Dick has to remember to breathe himself.
"I'm scared of seeing raised beer bottles and I'm scared of breaking dishes and I'm scared of not being the perfect, quiet child. I'm scared of disappointing Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry, I'm scared that they might not want me at all."
There's a pause, a horrible silence that descends on them, and Dick doesn't dare break it.
"And I'm scared that one day I won't be able to run fast enough, that I won't be enough. I'm scared of being replaced or disappearing and no one is going to care. So yeah, I'm probably reckless, but when I say I'm not scared I'm -"
He breaks off, the silence returning for a moment. Dick notices that Wally's fingers have stopped twitching at least.
"I'm terrified," he finishes, whispering.
Dick counts again. His thoughts are still whirling, and he needs a few moments to try and process it all. He doesn't quite know what to say, this time. He doesn't know, for once, because Wally's admitted a few things but nothing ever quite to this level, this personal. And Dick, for once, is lost for words, on how to help his best friend/
"I am too," Dick settles on, not knowing what else to say. Wally stares at him, searching, then nods, head sagging forward.
"Yeah, I know," Wally mumbles, feet now awkwardly beginning to scuff the floor. The energy is finally out of his system, his eyes are downcast and tired, and he's taken off his goggles in favour of rubbing a hand through his hair. Better, he's doing better. He'll be okay.
Wally looks up at him now, sheepish. "So, keep that between us?"
Dick laughs, moving off the chair, holding out a hand for a fist bump. Wally complies.
"Of course, dude," he says, sincerely, relieved when Wally's shoulders relax, when his fingers uncurl and they're thankfully still not shaking. Progress, definitely progress.
"However," he takes on a teasing tone, now, "you forgot to mention your fear of cockroaches."
Wally makes a disgusted noises. "Everyone has a fear of those, bro. They can survive nuclear bombs, for God's sake!"
"They're not so bad," Dick says, just to tease, but he's definitely in agreement with Wally. There's just something about the legs.
Wally splutters, trying to get out a response, when Alfred knocks on the door. It's still ajar, but not enough for anyone outside to properly see inside the room. To see Wally, who has now sat down on the edge of Dick's bed, chin resting in his palm, fingers tapping a rapid beat against his cheek.
"Would you like to stay for dinner, perhaps, Master Wally?" Alfred asks, and Wally looks at Dick questioningly. Would you mind?
Of course not. Never.
"I would love to," replies Wally, and from where he's standing, Dick can see the way Alfred smiles before walking off.
"Thanks," Wally says, turning to him, his smile sincere. Not just thanking him for welcoming him to dinner.
Dick smiles back. "Always."
He waits a beat before continuing, "But not always dinner, because then even Bruce might go broke with your eating habits."
Wally laughs, shrugging innocently, then looks down at his shoes.
"Hey," Wally starts up cheekily, eyes glinting as he looks up at Dick.
"Don't you say it," Dick warns, eyes narrowing in response.
"Look at how holy I am, amen," he finishes, and Dick just sighs before reaching over his desk and grabbing a textbook to fling at him.
Wally dodges with ease, and really, Dick doesn't mind the joke all that much in the end anyway. Because Wally's fingers have stopped shaking, his eyes are focused and clear, and his footsteps are now heavy and solid. Not ready to run, not feeling the urge to escape.
He's okay, now, and that's what Dick really only cares about anyway. Even if he does have to deal with the same crappy jokes.
Hi all! Been ... 3 years (or more) since I last wrote for Young Justice, and on ffnet in general (sorry for any issues in format), whoops. I was 13 at the time, I'm now 17, currently sitting my final exams (so I wrote this short thing in like 1.5hours instead of studying lmfao, I just wanted to get something out though to show hey guys I'm alive still). Crazy how time flies though.
Anyway, if anyone is bothered to check, I probably will not be resuming my old fics. Looking back on them is one big cringe-fest which just... yeah. Nope, basically, with every aspect of them. When I wrote them, I had literally only just begun to write fanfics, and though I've kept it up, I've moved from a few fandoms (you can find me over in the Roosterteeth one nowadays.)
However I am always a big sucker for Wally angst, even these many years later, and the news of Young Justice coming back literally just sparked up my love for writing Wally/YJ, even if it feels a little like stepping into shoes that no longer fit. Whoops?
If I post more (I probably will, tbh, I'm so hyped for s3), I'll probably crosspost on an AO3 account that I'll make in the relative future, as I much more prefer the formatting.
Anyway, sorry for this long ass post, it feels good to be writing back in the fandom again! And please excuse all my works from my, like, early teenage days lmfao :') Much love to you all :) (also do hearts seriously not work still come on now)