Everything was going smoother than expected. Was. Around the seventh or eighth time he saw the same pair of pants being unfolded and refolded, Wally thought that moving away might be more trouble than it was worth.
"Mom, seriously? They're pants," says Wally, while trying to wrestle the clothing away from his mom, "and I don't need help packing anyway! I'm eighteen!" That is a very grown up age and grown ups can fold pants all by themselves, thank you very much.
With a look that manages being both unimpressed and exasperated at the same time, Mary West relents and lets go of the pants. "Wally, you've never been good at packing-"
"Lies!"
She raises her hand in the air to ward off anymore interruptions - and to placate her son, who, at the moment, looks like someone trampled all over his action figure collection - before continuing, "I'm only trying to help. Besides this is... the last time I get to help my baby get ready for school."
Oh. That was a low blow. If Wally were any lesser of a person he wouldn't fall for it, but he has no other choice. Not unless he wants the 'I Made My Mom Cry' merit badge, and he really doesn't. He sighs and wordlessly hands the pants back. Apparently, this gesture is the most delightful thing to happen to anybody in the entire history of forever; if the way she instantly brightens up is any indication.
"Thank you," she says as she folds the pants for the eighth or ninth and last time. "Well," answers Wally, attempting to sound nonchalant, "I thought I'd let my clothes get treated nicely at least one more time. Before they end up all over the floor in my dorm room."
"…"
"…What."
After what felt like an eternity, they were finally done packing and, yeah okay, Wally's bags are much neater and more organized than they would have been otherwise. It still took forever.
"One hour isn't the end of the world, sweetie," his mom had said.
"I guess." All that got Wally was a few pats on the cheek and a suggestion to go help his dad in the basement. Help with what, Wally isn't sure. The only things the Wests have in their basement are some old boxes and a big crack in the floor from the time Wally tried to turn it into an ice skating rink.
But there's not much else to do until Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris show up for dinner later, so Wally doesn't see the harm in hanging out with the old man for a while.
And actually he doesn't see anything at all once he gets to the basement. He squints in the darkness of the room from his spot on the bottom of the stairs, trying to figure out what black blob is what. "Dad? You realize you don't have night vision, right?"
"Son!" Wally's dad's voice yells back. "Look what I found." Suddenly there is a flashlight turning on and being shined toward Wally.
"You found a flashlight?" Wally asks, shielding his eyes.
A laugh. "No, of course not. It's something better." Rudy West aims the beam of light toward the floor so Wally is able to see where he's going as he makes his way across the room.
"Hmm… Anne Hathaway?"
"No, but I'm sure Artemis would be interested in that?"
"Hey, celebrity crushes are still allowed." Not that they've discussed it at all, but Wally can only assume these things. "So, what's so interesting over here?"
In answer, Rudy simply switches off the light. Right away Wally notices a set of glowing green handprints on the wall accompanied by a very messy written message reading 'wall wuz here.'
"No way!" he reaches out to trace one of the handprints. "This is from when you bought me the…"
"…Glow in the dark paint." The man smiles at the tiny prints. "You know, your mother told me not to buy you that paint, or else we'd be seeing splotches of it everywhere at night."
"And you got it anyway." Wally laughs at the memory. Years ago, when his dad brought home a small bucket of paint he had made Wally promise that he wouldn't paint the walls with it and he agreed. Then Wally, in all his six-year-old glory, promptly went downstairs to paint on the basement walls where he thought no one would see.
To his credit, it took a few days before anyone noticed, but his parents thought it was cute so they let it slide. Just that one time, of course, because when they found a similar piece of art upstairs later that week, Wally had to go into time out.
"We should find out what company made this paint, it held up pretty well all these years."
Wally snorts in reply. "Yeah, Dad, I'm sure Mom would love if you painted the house glow-in-the-dark green."
Rudy laughs and claps a hand on his son's shoulder, "Okay wise guy..."
The sound of Mary calling through the door interrupts their conversation about the finer points of paint color. "Iris and Barry are here, I suggest you two get up here for dinner."
The rest of the evening goes as planned. Complete with Wally snagging an entire chocolate cake before anyone else gets a slice. A guy's gotta eat, alright?
Hours later, when Wally is already in bed, his phone beeps. He grabs the phone off of the nightstand and sees a text from Artemis.
So. I just checked. And our dorms are pretty close to each other.
Grinning at the message, he replies right away: Is this ur way of saying I should get the door sock ready?
A few minutes later and another beep: Don't be a perv.
Before Wally can reply back, Artemis sends another message: It better be a clean sock and not some old gym sock.
And, really, he can't help but laugh at that.
A/N! - Look an attempt at an actual story! And nothing really happens in it, fff. I guess this is meant to be more slice-of-life than anything. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I like it well enough. Even though it ends at... kind of a weird spot.
I guess this fic is more or less canon compliant, I mean, I assume that Wally and Artemis didn't jump straight into sharing an apartment/house/whatever it is together when they got to college.
Anyway, let me know what you think! I'm always looking to improve.