Warnings: none
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
Old Man
Flash and Red Arrow walking down a sidewalk in Gotham, around seven-thirty in the evening. Red Arrow speaks first.
"No, swear to god, I'm not lying, I saw it with my own eyes."
"'cough' Bullshit 'cough'"
"No bullshit, I told you, it's there; go see for yourself."
"As if I care."
"Uh-huh. You care."
"Do not."
"Do too."
"He's twenty-two."
"'Happens to everybody. Okay, pretty much, anyway."
"Dude, it doesn't matter."
"Yeah, sure."
"It doesn't and besides, he probably knows anyway."
"If he knew he'd do something about it. He doesn't know."
"Yuh, lookâyou ever know him to not know something? He knows."
"..."
"Fine, don't believe me. We're meeting him at that stupid restaurant he likes..."
"He doesn't like the restaurant, he likes the hostess, that redhead with chest out to..."
"Yeah, whatever. Check it out when we go in, we're here." Pause. "Twenty says I'm right."
"You're on."
They go through the main door, wait a moment to give their names to the hostess then follow her to a private room, all eyes in the room trying not to stare. Manly hugs follow before they take their seats, Flash takes a millisecond to check it out. He sits, depressed and hands Red Arrow a twenty dollar bill.
Dammit, he was right, Dick had at least five gray hairs, maybe ten, right in that always stray lock of hair on his forehead.
"So, 'Wing, Happy Birthday, Old Man."
3/21/12