Warning: mild language

[takes place after the "Young Justice Invasion" finale]

He was sore.

That was really the only coherent thing that he had register in his weary mind at the moment. Slamming the door shut to his Bludhaven apartment, Nightwing immediately leaned against the wooden portal and released a long, exaggerated sigh. Gosh, were his arms supposed to feel like they were dragging 100lbs. of leaden weight along every time he moved? He was 110% positive the answer was no, and with a smothered sigh, he began shuffling through the tiny little den towards his bedroom and bathroom, keeping one hand on the walls so that he didn't end up flat on his face. When he finally reached the smaller room, the fight changed to a different category: a mental decision between refreshing himself in the restroom, or simply collapsing on his bed, vigilante costume and all, and not getting back up until he turned forty. Or fifty. Or maybe for just plain eternity.

Eventually, realizing his trembling muscles would probably not support him the torturing nine more feet into the restroom, he just let his legs give out, falling onto his stomach and sinking into the comforter-laden twin mattress before him. The furniture wasn't at all similar to the expensive, cloud-like luxury that he'd once used at Wayne Manor; but with the growing fatigue weighing down every inch of his body, the cheap divan felt like the softest material known to mankind. Flashbacks of the battle from before flooded his mind. Fighting with Young Justice, despite the fact that he had left the team, had been fun. Uncovering old wounds, while gaining a few new physical ones, hadn't. Something heavy and cold settled in his chest as he muscled up enough strength to simply reach one hand up a few inches, peeling away the thin domino mask from his blue eyes; gritting at the uncomfortable feeling of the residual glue left behind on his face. Normally he would spend at least ten minutes hovering over a sink to wash the stuff away – because he hated the feeling of the sticky substance clinging to his skin – but tonight he just couldn't find the will to move anymore. Dropping completely his Nightwing personae, he became fully Dick Grayson. A very tired, drained, stressed out Dick Grayson.

The clock on the bare bedroom wall read 8:00 pm, a time when he would normally be heading downtown to the derisory bar where he worked, scraping up enough money to get him by until he managed to get his BPD application signed off and the tests passed. For not the first time, the fleeting thought passed by that all he had to do was call up Batman – or more specifically, Bruce Wayne – and ask him for a loan. He would surely have full access to the multibillionaire's entire savings account in under an hour, and no more would he have to juggle being Nightwing while dealing with the verbal abuse of his overweight, over-cranky, over-everything-appalling manager. It could be so easy…

And that was why he simply refused to do it. Easy was not a path that Richard (Dick) John Grayson had ever taken, and he certainly wasn't going to start now that he'd finally gained his independence, with his own hero guise and his own city. He'd just started flying the rooftops solo – ever since taking a leave of absence from the Young Justice team a few months before – and unstable ground with Bruce/Batman left him alone most of the time. Not that he was complaining – because he never complained about the freedom of independence. It was just that the thought of going to his foster father for any sort of financial support seemed absurd. That's all. That was the whole reason for going down this trail of thought in the first place. Not because some small part of him missed the company of his team, flying the rooftops with his mentor and brother, and actually enjoying the nights and days of his life. And certainly not because he was lonely.

He slipped in and out of unconsciousness several times, until his cell phone's insistent ringing woke him up at 9:30 pm. He growled at the noise, hoping that maybe the warning would tell the stupid device to shut itself off and whoever was on the other end of the line to leave him alone; but when the shrill ringing kept on screaming in his ears, he forced himself to rip the thing from his utility belt and pull it to his mouth demanding "What?" in a less than pleased tone.

There was a pause from the other end. "…Dude, you okay?"

The owner of the voice startled him into sitting up, all ire gone. "Wally?"

"Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to make sure you were still alive after that epic beat-down from the harbor. Roy just gave me the play by play, and it wasn't pretty. But, you already know that."

Even though Wally West had returned nearly two months ago, it still chilled him to hear his voice, alive and well. Retrieving him from the afterlife dimension the speedster had been trapped in was not easy, nor was it without its personal, little, traumatic side effects. Dick had barely spoken to his friend since the incident, and it hadn't been like the former Kid Flash was pressing for a reunion. He was busy in Central City, with Artemis (who'd once again left the team) and his family and his non-heroic life. He'd hung up his masks for good; and though Nightwing couldn't blame him for that, he still couldn't bring himself West out. Afraid to find out that things have permanently changed, afraid that Wally would think Nightwing wanted to reel him back into the hero business. The same business that had gotten him killed in the first place – even though Martian Manhunter had said he had only been sent to another, empty dimension. It had still been death in this reality; and that was the main reason he was so stunned to hear Wally West's voice on his cell.

Wally West, who was growing impatient waiting for a reply. "Soooo…" he drawled. "You are still alive, right? Because I'm getting total radio silence on this end."

He snapped himself out of his reverie immediately. "Huh? Oh, y-yeah, yeah, I'm alive. Thanks for checking up on me."

Another long, awkward beat of silence before the other young man answer. "Dick, are you alright?"

No, no he wasn't. Because hearing Wally reminded him about the memorial service and Artemis' angry tears and it reminded him about how badly he'd failed and how he was still failing as a hero and as Bruce's son and as a person in general…

But he couldn't say thought out loud, so he shoved those feelings deep inside. He smothered a yawn, slowly returning to his position, on his back, sinking into the blankets. "I'm fine. Just kinda tired." He tried to cover how strained his voice had become, tried to sound a bit more like his old, cheerful self. For Wally's sake. "I think I'm gonna go back to sleep now, so I'll talk to you la…"

"Wait, you're at the apartment? What about work?"

"I… yean. Ithink I'm skipping tonight. Yeah, I'm gonna have to. Jones can scream at me all he wants tomorrow, but I can't feel my legs enough to get out of bed right now." True, all true. "So, I'm gonna hang up now."

On the other end, Wally hesitated; and then, voice sounding strangely dejected and firm, he replied, "Alright then. See ya soon."

He hung up the phone without replying, throwing the cell down onto the mattress beside him as he shut his eyes and begged sleep to come again, fingers tangled in the sheets. He just didn't want to think. Not about work, not about his stupid screwed-up life, and definitely not about Wally.

Showering in the morning was a fun adventure, laced through with the pain of tearing his Kevlar suit from his cut and bruised flesh, all while his nerves screamed with every movement he made. He took a strong painkiller before getting under the waterfall of hot, steaming water; both helped dull the pain to a faint aching by the time he got dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. His schedule was all mixed up, with Nightwing work and his other jobs always juggling between night and day; he figured going to the bar to try and soothe his manager Jones was his best choice out of several unpleasant options. Listening to the police scanner and finding no crimes in progress helped confirm his choice. To the bar it was.

He stepped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his still-damp hair; and then jumped backwards while screaming "WALLY!" upon seeing the redhead perched on his kitchen counter.

"Wow, what a welcome," the older boy greeted, smirking. "I've been waiting here for at least fifteen minutes. Seriously, dude, how long do you shower? I was about to run in there and make sure you hadn't drowned yourself or something."

Dick was pressed against the wall, eyes widened in shock; but the expression instantly melted into irritation once West had finished talking. "Wally, what… how… did you vibrate through my door?!"

"Correct on the first try." He hopped off the counter and grabbed his own coat. "C'mon, we're going out."

What? "Wally, wait." He caught up with the retired speedster and shook his head, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

There was a hard sigh as a response. "Didn't I just answer that, dumbass? I came here to take you out… and don't you dare crack any gay jokes, or I'll just leave by myself."

"You're gonna have to leave anyway," he replied, groaning. "Wally, I need to get to work…"

"Thought ya quit."

"I didn't quit, I just didn't go this one time last night," he corrected sternly. "And so that I don't get fired, I need to go now and try to convince Jones that letting me go isn't worth it. So please, Wally, just go home and we'll meet up later…"

"No we won't," the redhead suddenly broke in, eyebrows darting downward. "I won't see you later, because you'll make up some lame excuse why we can't meet up. Hero business, or double work shifts, or some other crap that'll keep you busy." He paused, crossing his arms before a stunned Dick, before adding, "You've been avoiding me, you're skipping work – something you've never done – and you're shunning your friends. Even Roy! You've become some reclusive hermit, and I'm sick of it. So, you're gonna come downstairs with me, you're gonna get in my car, and we're gonna go grab something to eat. Got it?"

"I'm not avoiding y…"

"Don't even say it, Dick. Now, are you coming?"

It was Wallace West's infamous yet rare "no nonsense" tones, and it took him off guard. Dick thought about arguing, and knew that if he tried hard enough, he could get the other young man to just leave.

But there was something in Wally's emerald eyes, something sharp and curious and intense, that told him that avoiding the elephant in the room this time would be seriously damaging.

So, exhaling a defeated sigh, he nodded, and followed Wally out of the apartment.

When they pulled up to the tiny little building, Dick forced his bewilderment away. "An ice cream shop? How is there even one open? It's winter."

"Do you always have to pull Bat-logic on everything?" Wally quizzed, stepping out the driver's side. "C'mon, I'm starved."

He followed the redhead towards the ordering window, and stood silently while the older boy ordered his mountain of a sundae. When asked what he would like, he tried to explain he wasn't hungry, he received a pretty good impression of the Bat-glare; so he surrendered. "A plain chocolate cone," he said dully.

Wally rolled his eyes. "Typical – why is it you always chose something boring and dark?" He turned to the homely lady at the window. "He'll have a chocolate swirl with some vanilla – have to have at least something light. Yeah, I'll pay."

Cash was shoved through the window, the frozen treats were accepted; and then both young men sat at one of the empty, outside tables. The older of the pair immediately began shoving a banana drizzled in chocolate syrup into his mouth while Dick stuck his cone on the table in front of him and stared at it.

After a full five minutes, Wally glanced up and frowned. "You gonna wait for that thing to melt?"

He snorted. "Dude, it's like thirty degrees out here and we're surrounded by snow. It's not gonna melt."

"But it's not getting eaten either," was pointed out. Upon seeing Dick's eye roll, Wally cocked an eyebrow. "Y' know, Dick, I don't think you appreciate the finer aspects of an ice cream swirl."

"Wally…"

"It's the perfect combo of chocolate and vanilla," the speedster rattled off. "Light and dark, mingling together in a creamy sensation…"

"Wally…"

"…the flavors are so different, but still so perfect together. The desert is beautiful, because of the swirl part…"

"WALLY…"

"…and do you know why, Dick?" Now, he was staring pointedly at the younger boy, frowning. "The reason is because the flavors work together, mingle. And when the chocolate is pissed off with the vanilla, the chocolate doesn't go running off to hide in his own little freezer while all the other ice cream cones worry their heads off."

Oh. So that's what this whole thing was about. Dick's eyes stared hole's into the picnic table, refusing to look up. There's was a stretch of silence before he shook his head. "That's a really stupid metaphor, Wally."

"Then talk to me on real terms."

He still didn't look up – his fingers traced all the scratch marks on the frost-covered table. He took a deep breath. "I'm not pissed at you."

He could sense rather than see the former hero frown. "Alright then; but the vanilla is staring to get pretty pissed at the chocolate, because the chocolate is acting like an asshat, avoiding him and all that kind of shit." When he didn't answer, he heard Wally sigh, long and hard. "Dick, c'mon. Look at me."

He did, reluctantly. The other man was staring at him, brow knitted in concern and ire. "What the heck is going on with you?" he was questioned. "The entire time I've been back, I've witnessed you being a solitary jerk. Roy called me up, said you haven't called him in months. You left Young Justice, and most of all, you've pretty much said two words to me this whole time. Why?"

He leaned back, shaking his head. "I dunno." Lies, all lies, he scolded himself mentally. You know why. You're the reason why.

Wally snorted. "Right. The day that you don't know something will be the day Vandal Savage is declared a saint. I want a better answer."

"I don't have one for you," he answered quietly, fingers tapping impatiently on the wood, looking off into the nearby patch of trees that obscured the Gotham turnpike from view. They were nearly on the outskirts of the city. "There's nothing to talk about, Wally. I've just been… busy." Please, please, let's not talk about this right now…

"Yeah. Busy and silent and one big jackass. Artemis misses hearing your stupid voice on the phone, and I'd personally like to know why the biggest 'welcome home' I got from my best friend was a lame little "Wally, hi". What is going on with you? You're acting more and more like Ba…"

"Don't say it," he whispered sternly. "Don't call me that."

/ "How can you say that?!"

Artemis hit him, several times, her small fists not really doing any damage but still hurting. "Don't you dare say that at least the mission was a success!" she cried out, hot tears burning down her face. When Nightwing didn't say anything, she gave up beating him and instead backed away, shaking her head, eyes rimmed red, face flushed. "I can't believe you!" she screamed at him. "Wally's dead, and you can't even bring yourself to care! You're not a friend! You're just like Batman!" /

Of course, Artemis had apologized afterwards; but the words still burned in his ears, and Dick subconsciously clenched his fists beneath the table.

Wally, oblivious to anything that had happened while he was 'gone', frowned deeper. "Well, what else am I supposed to say? You've been a jackass, and you won't tell anyone why!" He paused, waiting for an answer. When he got none, he shoved himself out of his seat and shook his head in bitter disappointed. "Well… what a buzzkill, dick," he spat out, unaware of the flinch his cold demeanor cause. "Hope you appreciate being a lonely, jerk face of a pariah; because that's what you are. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you would've talked to me. Especially after everything that's happened. But I guess not." He turned and began walking away, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. "Guess you never even cared."

/ Roy stared at him, eyes disbelieving. "I'm going to pretend you never said that," the incognito Red Arrow stated angrily.

Nightwing picked up his escrima sticks and shoved them onto his back. "Don't make a big deal out of this, Roy," he said. "Bludhaven needs me tonight."

"Yeah, and so do your friends," was the frustrated reply. "How can you do this? How can you even think about skipping Wally's memorial service? For a drug bust?"

"Wally would understand."

"Wally would want you to be there, just like he would be there for you!" the other man howled, shoving his fist down onto the coffee table. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Your best friend just died, and you're acting like nothing's happened! DO YOU EVEN CARE?!" /

He'd ended up going, and Roy and he had made up; but that didn't lift the weight off his chest, the despair that sometimes threatened to swallow him whole. Now, watching Wally leave, he dropped his head into his arms, leaning on the table, closing his eyes. "I care," he whispered hoarsely, mostly to himself. "I care."

He wasn't talking to anyone, but Wally heard him anyway. The redhead turned, arms folding over his chest, and stared hard at the younger boy, expression softening.

Dick didn't look up; just kept softly mumbling to himself. "I care, I really do, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I care, I care, I care…" I do, I do, I do…

He didn't notice when Wally walked back over to him, and sat down on the bench beside him. The only time he finally acknowledged the other was when a strong hand found itself on his shoulder; then, his head shot up, eyes clouded over and staring off somewhere straight ahead. "I do care!" he blurted out, teeth clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. "I do care! I do! And Wally, I'm sorry!" He felt something tiny and wet roll down his cheek. Damn it, damn it…

He could feel the speedster's surprise emanating from him like an odor, felt the hand on his shoulder tighten its grip. "Dude, hey, calm down. I-It's okay, everything's fine, just calm down…"

"No, it's not fine! I'm sorry, Wally!"

"Okay, okay, Dick, it's okay… I didn't mean what I said, Dick, c'mon…"

He shook his head violently. He doesn't understand. How can he say anything is okay? He barely heard a door slam somewhere, and what might've been another voice calling out; but he wasn't sure, because he buried his fingers into his hair, nails tearing into his scalp. "I'm so sorry, Wally, I'm sorry, I care, I'm sorry…"

Wally put two arms on Dick's back, eyes widened as he felt the younger boy tremble beneath his touch. Dick? "Hey, c'mon, calm down, Dick. Dick? Dick, calm down! It's okay…" He heard the door to the ice cream shack open and then slam shut, followed by approaching footsteps. He didn't turn to address the newcomer, but called over his shoulder, "Roy, get over here!" I didn't want to upset him this much, I didn't mean to be so hard on him… "Dick, it's all fine, just take a few breaths…"

"I'm sorry…"

"I know, Dick, it's fine…"

"I'm sorry!"

"I know!"

"I'm sorry I killed you, Wally!" The words tumbled out of his mouth in a frantic wave, stunning both West and the whoever else was nearby into silence. He buried his head in his arms again, gasping. "I'm sorry I killed you," he repeated, quieter this time. "And I'm sorry I almost killed Artemis, and almost killed Kaldur. I'm sorry I blew up the cave and lied to the team and lied to the League and I'm sorry I've failed you and failed everyone. I'm sorry I'm such a screw up, I'm sorry I keep failing, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I survived the Invasion and you didn't! I'm sorry…!"

"STOP!"

Wally's unusually loud, desperate shout was accompanied by the redhead grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and spinning him around the bench to face him, his grip unnecessarily tight. "Don't you ever say you're sorry you survived." he added, voice strained and hoarse as he forced Dick to make eye contact. "I've already heard from you enough times, and I refuse to hear you say it ever again!"

There was a pause, with Dick drawing in shaky breaths and Wally trying to stop his anxious Flash vibrating. "Dick," he whispered finally, biting his lip. "Everything that happened was not your fault." He rushed to continue before the other boy could argue. "It wasn't. You made decisions that impacting things, but the fault goes to the Light and all their stupid allies. Not you; and most certainly not when it comes to what happened to me. I made the choice to go with Bart and Uncle Barry, not you. And remember, I wasn't really dead…"

Dick looked up at him through tangled, ebony locks of hair. "You were to me."

He swallowed thickly, nodding. "O-Okay. Okay. But Dick… do you trust me?"

Hesitation, but then a nod.

"Then trust me when I say, when I promise you, that blaming yourself, pulling into yourself, is not the right thing. It's not accurate, and it's not going to help."

The younger man tried arguing – he always did – but he was insistent. This wasn't his fault. Never had been. He should've told him what he'd been thinking, not drawing away from all those concerned. The words came out almost automatically – it was frightening how many times he'd gone over this same thing over and over with his friend – but this time, there was added weight. Something much more personal than other missions gone wrong or little arguments with the Batman or simply the occasional bouts of depression Wally found himself trying to soothe. This was about him as much as it was about Dick; and that made this time much more important.

Finally, finally, after nearly a half hour of protests and more incoherent mumbling and plenty of swearing, Dick had calmed down to the point where he could face the older boy in the eye and speak, without being an exhausted, frantic mess. Wally finally ripped his hands from the vigilante's arms he'd been clutching; and they sat in what was, for the first time in quite a while, a rather comfortable silence.

That's when Dick finally noticed the ice cream lady standing a few feet away, watching them. His jaw dropped, and he made ready to go back into panic mode, when the lady stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "We're here for ya, Dickie," she said sincerely, and he continued to gape.

After a second, she slapped a hand to her forehead, rolling her eyes. "Duh, forgot. Hang on a sec."

Dick watched as the woman gripped some sort of metal device from her throat, and then tore her hair – a wig – right off her head; the change revealed a twenty-something year old man a shock of hair as red as Wally's, and a deeper, male voice that remarked, "Recognize me now, blue bird?"

His eyes widened. "Roy?!"

"One and only," civilian Red Arrow remarked lightly, sitting down on his other side so that Dick was in between he and Wally. "So, now that the speedster here has cleared up whatever horrid mess your brains have been tangled in, you all better now?"

Ignoring the fact that Roy Harper was in a blouse and heels, Dick thought for a moment. His mind did seem a bit clearer; and the weight on his chest was gone to. Huh. He nodded, slowly, still a bit unsure. Yet Roy immediately lit up, and grinned. "Great, 'cause I'm starved!"

"Well?"

Wally stared with a sappy grin on his face while Dick attentively stuck his tongue into his still-not-melted chocolate swirl cone, and then pulled some of the delicacy into his mouth. He waited a moment, tasting it; before breaking into a small smile. "It's good."

"Ha, ha! Told you so!" Wally slapped his palms onto the table, whooping triumphantly. "Ya can't go wrong with vanilla and chocolate swirled!"

"Actually…" He paused his friend's little celebration and turned to where Roy (thankfully back in his own regular clothing) was across the table squirting caramel syrup from a bottle into his mouth. "…hey, Roy, can you add another flavor to this?"

The archer took the hint and smirked, looking pleased and grateful. "Sure thing. I've got some epic red strawberry that would go great with that." He reached over and plucked the desert from the black-haired boy while entering the empty ice cream shack. He reemerged a few seconds later, the ice cream now a mixed combo of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.

Dick took the cone back. "Thanks, Roy; and I mean thanks. For… y' know."

"I know, Dickie."

He studied the swirl for a moment, noting how Roy went back to drizzling syrups on his tongue and how Wally was staring at him with this satisfied, happy smile.

He returned the expression, and then tasted his desert, eyelids fluttering closed. "Mmm…"

"…now it's perfect."

for those of you who may be wondering, the / texts were flashbacks.

A/N: I'm having this issue where I'm not satisfied with my writing enough. Oh well. Wrote this anyway, right after watching the YouTube video "Goodbye My Friend_a Tribute to Wally West". It's awesome, a music video about Dick and Wally, so check it out! I loved it, 'cause I adore Nightwing/Wally bromance stuff, and I adore it when Roy's involved too.

Also, a shout out to the amazing, incredible Appel Bougher for helping me with my writing even when I feel it's no good, and for being an epic friend! She has two stories "Teen Titans: The Annual Super Hero Assessments" and the sequel, so check her out as well! :)