Young Justice… my fandom, we are running out of land to live on. We're now just clinging to the memories. It isn't long before we all pack our bags and depart with fleeting forced smiles. When I leave, hide your grins of relief until I can't see you anymore, alright?
Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice or the related characters.
"I know we… these past few months… they were definitely… a uh… big rock in our friendship… but…"
The cemetery was the comfortable kind of quiet on the late hours of the Tuesday afternoon, the sunlight's warming beams acting like a pair of headphones to block out anything but the soothing lull of the wind and distant trills of the birds. Lengthy tree branches reached up towards the fluffy clouds skimming the sky's baby blue, managing to cut out the worst of the sun's glare and casting out a shade that helped to ease the shivers of the nineteen year old sitting cross-legged in front of a newly placed headstone.
His jeans were nestled into the fresh dirt covering the coffin six feet under, an elbow to each knee so his hands could cradle the exhausted hollows of his tear-streaked face. A familiar sort of ache nestled inside his chest, replacing his skin in his head with a thickly lain metal that made moving a near impossible feat. There was no intention to move though, as seen from the three hours he had been sitting there with his black locks unevenly waving about in the wind.
"But… you never stopped being my best friend… I… I messed up big this past year… and… you were all I had. I wasn't meant to lead anything… I thought we learnt that… back when… well… the alien ship… the simulation… I killed us all… it's just a… a wonder that I wasn't the one to… put you in the ground…"
Dick sniffled gently, shifting his head to his left hand and looking onto the slab of stone, tracing the name with his reddened eyes. Wallace Rudolf West. Almost instantly, his hands curled into fists and he pressed them up against his forehead, a quiet sob brewing in his throat. He had been trying to fight it off for a long time, but it was getting harder and harder with the passing daylight hours.
"I-I… your… your last words to me… we were fighting. Remember? It was… all over… your stupid… your girlfriend… she meant more… to you… than I did… you didn't even… did those four years mean… mean nothing to you?"
The first tear broke past the brim of his eye and he scrubbed it away frustratedly, gritting his teeth.
"I told you everything!" he shouted, striking the ground hard enough for a pain to shoot up his arm, "My name! My past! I broke every rule Bruce set for me! For you! You were my best friend! You promised! You said forever!"
Making quick work to cover his mouth with his calloused palms, he screamed into his hands until he couldn't feel his throat. The ache when he stopped helped siphon off some of the pain in his chest. Physical pain was a lot easier to deal with, he'd learnt.
"I'm… I'm sorry… that's… you said to me once… that's what a best pal's for… questioning objectivity, I mean… you questioned me… and… and I thought it meant you loved her more… I… I'm such an idiot."
His voice was hoarse now, but he was okay with that, closing his eyes and cradling them for the longest time. Each breath he took he focused greatly on, praying to blow the memories off, but it didn't work. Some things just couldn't be forgotten; not without help. He slipped his phone from his pocket, going down to Megan's contact number and tracing the call button with his thumb in hard thought. He could forget that fight. His last memory with Wally could be a good one so he didn't feel as bad.
"Dick? What are you doing here?"
The voice snapped the ebony from his thoughts, shutting his phone and turning to look up at the familiar speaker. It took him a second to recognize the kid in civvies, but he faked a small smile when he recognized Bart standing tall behind him with his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Same thing you are, I guess," he wiped at his cheeks again, staggering to his feet, "Paying my respects."
The brunette's eyes squinted as they studied the nineteen year old's face, a frown pulling down harder on his lips.
"You okay?" Bart knew the answer before he had even asked the question, but he wanted to hear it for himself so he could feel a little better.
Averting his eyes, Dick looked at the marker of his best friend, the weights in his face showing more now than ever, rubbing sorely at his neck. He knew that he was supposed to say he was, laugh and brush it off like it was a popped tire or a scraped knee, but he couldn't even finish the nod.
"Yea… no. No, I'm not okay. I am anything but okay," he bit at his lip a second before looking down to meet the boy's eyes, the pain in his gaze meeting the one in those small green eyes.
The speedster emptily blinked, standing still enough to resemble a colored statue until the two were having a silent staring contest, no penalty to the blinks they took. The brunette studied the tears in the older man's eyes, waiting until they dried out, and the ebony found himself in awe at the lack of sympathy or emotion for that matter in the younger kid's stare. Even the worst enemies he had gone against showed emotion.
"So get out of the cemetery."
The order tensed the nineteen year old again, his eyes widening before his eyebrows furrowed tightly and he fell flat again.
"Your parents, your 'brothers' and now your best friend. You've lived in a cemetery longer than you've lived anywhere else. You're nineteen. It's time to move out."
The words were like a punch to the face, even leaving the ebony breathless, a bit of horror entwining with the pain in his gaze. Bart was thirteen. At thirteen, Dick was riding in the sidekick saddle with giggles and explosives on his hips. He had been in pain, but not quite like this.
"Bart…" he reached forward, intending to put a hand to the brunette's shoulder, stopping when the kid immediately jerked back with fear in his eyes.
He had expected to be hit. The ebony hadn't felt his heartbroken this fast in a good 72 hours. Bart seemed to notice Dick's reaction, causing him to shake the reaction off with a hand through his hair and a quiet cough.
"People die, Dick. Everyone knows that, and no one knows it like I do. I know it hurts, but… shouldn't it just be encouragement to love those who are still living?" the speedster took a step back, baiting the nineteen year old after him, "Crying won't bring any of them back. It's just going to make your cheeks red and your face old."
Dick followed him slowly, stuffing his own hands into his jacket's pockets, a particular kind of hurt burning up in his eyes.
"Bart," he said again, keeping his hands to himself this time.
The speedster slowed his step, gasping when a hand touched tenderly to his head. He crossed his eyes in an effort to find the point of this affection, smiling when the fingers playfully tousled his hair. The smile on Dick's face was genuine now.
"You're right. I'm going to head home… thanks," he lifted his hand and slowly started for the gates, oblivious to the blackish stains to the backs of his thighs.
Bart noticed with a small smirk, raising a hand in a feeble wave.
"Give my love to Timmy," he called, staying rooted in place until there was absolutely no sign left of the older teen.
Even after, he waited a good sixty seconds before turning on heel and walking fast to the grave again, a frown hard over his lips as he saw the figure waiting for him. The redhead was straddling the headstone, a distant sort of look driven over his freckles.
"He gone?" Wally asked, keeping his voice a murmur.
The brunette nodded slowly, looking down at the smudged dirt atop the grave and smoothing it out with his sneakers.
"Yeah… but…" a thought, a horrible one from the way the boy refused to return the gaze, crossed through the younger speedster's mind and set him off.
Wally straightened up and stepped away from the stone, raising an eyebrow.
"But…?"
Bart made an exasperated noise, eyebrows furrowing and fingers violently combing the air to try and explain the jumbled barrage of thoughts. It took a slow exhale to even them out enough to get a brief idea.
"Dick isn't the most stable of people when it comes to death. He'll push it off and deny it while it just… eats away at him. You were never supposed to die… so… I don't know if he'll make it. Can't you just go tell him you're alive? You know he can keep a secret," he scratched at the back of his neck like Dick had done earlier, earning him a small glare.
"You know I can't do that," the redhead shook his head, bringing a hand up to cup his lips with his thumb and index finger, making the frustrated sigh part by quicker. "Not yet at least."
The brunette knew better than to argue, so he nodded curtly and tucked his fists unseen into his pockets again.
"Why didn't you say anything to him? You told us to tell your parents and Artemis something… why not him?" he finally blurted out the question that had been burning in the back of his mind ever since the light had absorbed his cousin.
The twenty one year old smiled ironically, leading the two of them towards the other exit, a sort of heaviness settling over his eyes.
"I just… I figured he already knew everything I could've said to him…"
The rest of their walk was done in a painful kind of silence, the wind revving up in the distance and tearing at whatever it could get a hold on. The birds fell silent and the sky cast itself a few shades darker, the shade becoming near painful to stand it with how the trees would whip their branches back and forth through it.
"Guess I was wrong…"
-F.J. III