So I have things I need to update and other things to write, but I said no and wrote some angst. Have fun.

Ownership of characters and Young Justice now disclaimed. Enjoy

Dick closed the door as quietly as he could, wincing at the inevitable creak. It was nearly three in the morning, far later than he had anticipated the mission ending. Far later than Wally thought he would be out. Dick let out a sigh, leaning against the cool door. It was stressful trying to patrol the streets and work full-time AND keep it all under wraps from Wally. Wally had his dumb moments, but he wasn't stupid. It would only be a matter of time before he figured out—

A click. A tall lamp cast a yellow glow through the room. "Awfully late, aren't you?" Or it could happen now.

Dick shrugged callously, trying to pretend like there was nothing suspicious. "Didn't think I'd work so late. They were short a few officers, so I had to take a couple of extra shif—"

"Cut the bullshit." Dick stopped, biting his lower lip slightly. Wally's face was set in a cold glare, jaw locked in his pissed off face. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Wally, I—"

"You've been lying behind my back." The blunt edge to his voice, cut through Dick's weak explanation. "You've been running yourself into the ground trying to hide a secret that, quite frankly, I already knew. You might be a police officer, but officers don't come home bruised and battered like a boxer every night." He stopped, letting the words hang in the air.

Dick finally turned around, looking Wally straight on. His emerald green eyes were angry but wet. "Wally, I know you quit the superhero life—"

"We quit, Dick. You promised me—"

"—but I can't. It's…it's practically my life."

"Life? You call that a life?" He gestured wildly, his voice slowly climbing. "You're running yourself to an extreme that few people can actually push themselves to. Police work and League assignments? Dick, you're practically killing yourself!"

"I can handle it," Dick mumbled. "I did it as a kid, and I can do it now."

"No, you can't. It's too much. One of these days, you're just gonna run out. You're only human like that."

"Oh, so you can do it?" His tone was biting, his eyes flaming. Wally was being a stubborn ass, and he wasn't going to stand for it. "You think just because I'm some itty-bitty little human, I can't do this? That some big, powerful meta like you can do what I do?" He knew it was a stupid argument to make, that it wasn't true, but he couldn't stop himself. Dick was frustrated, tired of everyone trying to set his boundaries. As Nightwing, as Bludhaven's protector, he was free to break these boundaries, challenge the norm, and nobody was going to take that away from him.

"Dick, I—"

"I'm an adult, Wally. I can protect myself and make my life choices however the hell I want to. Just because all the big baddies of the world scared you away from the mask doesn't mean I'm scared."

Wally's eyes flared. He walked towards Dick, closing the gap quickly. "Scared? You think I'm scared? Dick, I wasn't scared. I'm not scared now either. I thought…I just thought I—we meant enough to keep ourselves safe. I thought I meant enough for you to actually make the effort to keep yourself alive for once, instead of flying off the handle and saving people for the League. Dick, they're some of the strongest beings in our universe. They can handle it. They don't need you." His words were running together, his thoughts disorganized as he tried vainly to explain to Dick how he felt. The moment the words passed his lips, he regretted it.

Dick visibly winced at Wally's response. "So they don't need me, do they? They don't need some little boy trying to play hero, do they." He closed the distance more, leaving barely an inch between him and the redhead. "Guess what, West, they sorta do. We have an alien invasion on our hands. Lex is constantly out to get us, and the shit just keeps piling up. They need every bit of help they can get, especially when we have cowards like you deserting our ranks when we need them most." It was a low blow, but Dick was furious, and Wally was being stupid.

"Oh, so I'm a coward?" Wally threw his arms up in exasperation. "I didn't quit because I'm a coward; I quit because I wanted to be normal. Why is it so hard to accept that?"

"Because you aren't normal! We're heroes, we've never had normal lives!"

"I did, once! I was a normal kid until I royally screwed that up. But you," he glared pointedly at Dick, "you've never been normal! Circus brat, then Batman's Boy Wonder. Hell, you wouldn't know normal even if it slapped you in the fucking face."

Dick shoved Wally hard, slamming him against the wall. "You want normal? Why the hell are you still with me then? Why do you need a circus brat to complete your perfect little 'normal' world?" Wally was silent, looking away from Dick. His voice was dry, catching in his throat. "You're right I'm not normal, and I'll never be normal. But my team needs me, and I'll be damned if I'm not there by their side."

Wally shoved him back, pushing Dick to the ground. This was exactly what he had feared. "They need you? What about me? What about us! You've been going behind my back for over three years now, and all this time I've known. Do you know how sick I get worrying about you? Wondering if you're going to come back every night? Do you know how painful it is, scanning the newspapers just to make sure the authorities aren't on Nightwing's tail."

"I don't need you worrying about me. I need you out there, by my side. I need my best man covering my back in combat. Wally, we were so good as a team. Why change that now?"

"Because I'm sick of worrying! I'm sick of having to check three news stations and newspapers just to make sure you're alright I'm sick of watching my back every night and just barely getting enough sleep to stay alive and having to ignore my family and friends but making sure they're perfectly okay at the same time. I just want you—us. Why can't you want that too?" They were shouting at each other, voices bouncing accusingly off the walls.

"Because I can't! I have to be out there, protecting the people. I have to be out there, saving the world. I'm no good at much else," he added bitterly.

"What the hell are you saying? You're smart; you're funny; you're nice to everyone you meet. I need you, Dick. The world may need Nightwing, but they need Dick Grayson even more." He stopped, throwing his head back at looking at the ceiling. He wiped at his eyes. "Sometimes, I think you don't love me anymore."

"Wally—"

"You don't care enough to respect my request—my only request of you. You clearly don't care enough to, God forbid, discuss it with me. You leave me to worry until I'm sweating bullets, praying you come home safe. Any regard to how I feel, to what I want?"

Dick seethed. "Do you know how selfish you sound right now?"

"No, do you know how selfish you are right now? All I want is for you to open up to me. Even if you wanted to keep up this superhero thing, all you had to do was talk it out. But you go around my back. You betray my trust." He stared Dick straight in the eye, an emerald fire blazing hotly against a stormy blue sea. "You are just. Like. Batman."

Dick's blood ran cold. His mind flashed back to just over five years ago, when he confided to Black Canary that he didn't want to be Batman. At all. Batman wasn't a bad mentor, but he wasn't as widely beloved as, say the Flash. He was conniving, untrustworthy at times. Though the League respected him and put their faith in him, they couldn't trust him the way they trusted any other hero. Wally didn't trust him anymore, and the message hit loud and clear. "Get out," he whispered. "I don't want to see you right now."

"Good, because I don't want to see you either." Wally brushed past Dick, feeling his heart break open with each step. This wasn't what he wanted, not at all. It was far from the lofty dreams they had painted their lives as. He opened the door, breathing in the cool, polluted air of Bludhaven. It was simple, easy, unlike this…mess. He turned, looking mournfully at Dick. "I don't want to deal with this now. I…don't know anymore. I mean, are we worth it anymore?"

Dick clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he replied truthfully. His head was hurting, and his mind was spinning. What had just happened, he wasn't sure quite what it was. They were both tired and angry and just sick of each other. He could already feel the regret for everything he said. They used to never fight like this, never like this before they started dating. Was this one of those rough patches, or were they simply not meant to be? "I don't know anymore."

"Neither do I," Wally said, pulling off his engagement ring. It was a simple gold band, unmarked and overall unremarkable. It was his most prized possession; at least, he thought it was. "I don't want to hate you, not right now."

"Neither do I." Dick followed the glint of the proposal ring, the one he had worked so damn hard to pay for without any of Bruce's money, as it fell to the ground.

"But I think I do. And I don't want that. The wedding's off." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm going out for a run. Don't wait for me." He jogged off at a regular pace before darting away at metahuman speed.

"I wasn't going to." He called at the empty doorway. He watched the door for a few more moments, waiting, hoping, that Wally would be back soon. He knew it wasn't going to happen that easily though. Both of them had said a lot, most of which they would regret within the next hour or so. He collapsed onto the couch, tired and angry, partly at Wally, mostly at himself.

Dick slowly peeled the mask off. Wally was partially right, though he was loathe to concede the point. All this hiding and double life-business was no picnic; his relationships outside the Team, especially with Wally, had suffered from his duplicity. Even within the Team, he felt distanced. Had he really fallen so far into his own beliefs? Had he really become like Batman, everything he didn't want to be?

Batman was always too busy to maintain a steady relationship, so he clearly had.

000000000000000000

Wally didn't come home that morning. Noon and dusk came to pass, and he still wasn't home. Dick wasn't worried; Wally was the type to throw tantrums and hissy-fits when he got angry. He was probably cooling off at Roy's house like usual. Dick returned to his work schedule, police officer by day, masked vigilante by night. Another day passed, but Dick brushed off his worries. He called Roy, who oddly had no knowledge of the other redhead's whereabouts. He still wasn't worried. The next night, he called Artemis and M'gann and Superboy. The next, Barry and the Wests. He wasn't worried; at least, that's what he told himself.

Wally was probably trying to prove his point-and it was working. Dick started checking the newspapers, scouring the city page to see if some redhead got arrested, or worse- killed. He slapped himself awake long enough to watch the news recorded on the DVR-yes, he was now using DVR to record the news whenever he wasn't home. Even though he was dead tired, he couldn't fall asleep, for his dreams were haunted by Wally. Wally never coming back, Wally lying dead in some ditch, Wally held captive by some psychopath or rapist, Wally... being happy with someone else, erasing Dick from his mind. The last one seemed to occur in his nightmares most frequently. Every time, Dick would tell himself, "He wouldn't do that." Not without calling.

The DVR queue grew longer as he added more stations to his watch list. The stack of newspapers on his table grew taller as the days piled up. Time seemed to blur for Richard Grayson as he ran himself into the ground each night, tracking any leads he could dig up on patrol. It was like a fire lit within, an obsession consuming his every moment, waking or otherwise. His nights were no longer acquainted with his bed; sleep only delayed him in his search. His once full, attractive face was now gaunt and tired, betraying of his long nights and obsessive searching.

Soon it was a week, two weeks, since Wally walked out. Dick had finally picked up the engagement ring, stringing it around his neck with a gold chain, as a reminder of how badly he had failed the love of his life. The slim ring lay heavily on his collarbone, refusing to get warm enough against his skin for him to forget about it. The cool metal buried itself in his every thought, reminding him that every minute without Wally was another minute the redhead could be dead.

He considered filing a missing persons report, but that notion dissipated. He didn't want Bludhaven PD on the case; he couldn't face this in front of his work colleagues. They were a tolerant bunch who never harassed him for his sexuality, but he couldn't stand the polarity of their reactions: pity or brusque apathy. He didn't need their empathy; he needed results. Nobody questioned Officer Grayson as he pored through missing persons report or brutal assault cases. Nobody questioned the darkening bags, or the choppy temper, or the unhealthy obsession that was coming to dominate his waking moments. Nobody questioned the sudden coldness with which Officer Grayson faced his job. They assumed the city finally got to him, crushed his spirit. While it wasn't the city's fault, his spirit was indeed crushed, blown into smithereens.

It was on one of his rare breaks from searching that he got the phone call. The house phone went off, reverberating through the oppressive silence. Dick faced it, eyes hollow, a practiced disinterest settling on his face. It was probably Bruce, checking in on him. Everybody had started calling recently, checking up on him: the Team, the League, even Tim from his personal cell phone. He had given up on explaining himself or expecting good news. With luck, it would be a telemarketer; at least they weren't interested in his personal life. He answered it after it rang thrice. "Dick Grayson. Who is this?"

"Uhh, is this the residence of Mr. Wallace West?"

Dick felt his blood run cold. "Y-yes." His voice cracked, jumping up an octave. "He's not here right now."

"Yes, we know. He's here with us. I'm Officer Montoya with the Houston PD."

Dick laughed nervously. "What did the idiot do this time? Drive a buffet into bankruptcy with that black pit of a stomach." The joke was lame, merely a pretense. Considering the silence on the other end, he wasn't fooling anybody; he couldn't even delude himself. "Is... is he okay?"

"..."

"Montoya, I myself am a police officer here in Gotham. I can handle this."

"..."

"Officer?"

"You might want to sit down for this."

He slammed the phone back into the receiver. His knees went weak as he clutched to the table, barely keeping himself standing. He let out a dry sob, his reservoir of tears drained by the gaping black hole swallowing his stomach. He felt bile rise in his throat, but he was too weak to fight the vomit, which spilled over the floor of their-his-apartment. His thoughts were racing to the forefront of his brain, jamming like a horrific car wreck. He wasn't sad or angry, just... empty, like his insides had dropped from his torso and into nothingness. He probably spilled the remainder of his substance on the carpet, leaving nothing but the empty shell of Dick Grayson.

Brrrring! He watched his fingers shakily pick up the phone as he sank to the floor, clutching the cool metal to his face. He didn't speak, but Officer Montoya started anyways. "I know his death must be hard on you as his partner-"

"I'm not his partner." The words sprang from his throat. Deep in his heart, he knew that much was true. That fight they had-the last one they'd ever have-the one that led to the loss of Wally West-brought ugly things to light, dark things that were best ignored to keep up the facade that they were actually a happy couple. They weren't, not with Nightwing looming over Dick's head like the dark shadow of Bludhaven. Being a partner-a lover-even just a friend-required trust; trust that they didn't have, not since Dick "left the Team" and entered a life of vigilantism and police work. He felt like a piece of shit, a dirty, lying piece of shit that deserved to be kicked in the gutter for being such a failure of a human being.

"Errr, then, um, would you mind passing on the specifics of his death to his family and friends."

No. "Yes," he heard himself reply, his voice a croaky whisper.

"He happened near a burning apartment complex, one that was too far out for our ambulances to reach quickly. Rush hour traffic at its worst. Your... this man ran inside and rescued several of the trapped residents, according to eyewitnesses. He saved very many lives that day." Montoya's voice cracked. "Including my own wife.

"A-According to the last witness to see him alive—" Dick let out a choked cough "—a young boy, barely ten years old. He said Mr. West was guiding him out, saw an unstable section of the ceiling come down, and pushed the boy out of the way. It trapped him under. The boy barely made it out before he passed out.

"We tried to go in and get him; we really did. But... it was too hot. We don't even know he could suffer through the blaze. All we know, Mr. Grayson, is that your friend died a hero."

Silence.

"Mr. Grayson?"

"Thank you." He disconnected the call, disconnecting himself from the painful story he just endured. Wally. Dead Wally. It was his worst nightmare, except real—no it isn't it can't be what's going on? The emptiness that once filled his body was overwhelmed by the urge—need—necessity to cry, one he readily indulged. The sour scent of his vomit couldn't lower his mood; he was already too low to fall further. He was well past rock bottom—he was in Hell and only digging deeper. Die, I want to die. Just let me die just let me be with Wally letmebewithWally.

He couldn't stop the flood rushing down his face as he curled up against the counter, knees drawn to his eyes. He sobbed loudly into the soft cloth, making no attempts to muffle the tears. He needed to hear his pain, needed the torture of his sorrow to dance through his ears and lodge in his memories. It was a reminder, a reminder how stupid words—stupid lack of words—led him to this situation.

He wanted to punch himself. He had called Wally a coward, bristled at the way Wally called him on his bullshit. Dick was wrong; Wally was a hero, the type the world needed. One that helped the common people when they were most in need out of the goodness in his heart, not out of some inferiority complex. Dick was not a hero; he was just a kid in a costume, jumping in front of guns. The world didn't need a Dick Grayson or a Nightwing. He needed the world, needed the validation that, yes, he wasn't helpless and could actually do something. He needed Wally, reaffirming that validation, protecting his fragile ego from shattering. He needed his best friend—his partner in crime fighting—his lover—his everything. The world needed a Wally West—he needed a Wally West—and now he was gone.

I feel like there was a style shift throughout. HmmmMMMmm well, I don't hate it right now, so please review!