A/N

Here we again, with the sequel to Young Justice: New Hopes. Please feel free to review with any criticisms or to ask anthing you want answered.

Anyway, like a cockroach, I keep coming back no matter how many times life steps on me!

Cheers for being here with me!

"I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination."

- Jimmy Dean

Episode I: Moving Mountains, Part I

"Mr West, are you listening?"

Wally's head quickly rises from his desk, nodding as though knowing what the question was.

"Yep," he answers in a chirpy voice.

It's fair to say his teacher wasn't exactly convinced by his light mood. "So then, why is Ancient Roman and Greek mythology quite similar?" she asks, her hands folded across her chest like a mother trying to lecture her child.

"Because they're both Ancient," he jokes, earning him a few quite chuckles in the classroom.

"I didn't ask for humour, I asked for an answer," she responds, veins almost popping out of her forehead in frustration.

"Technically, it was an answer though."

After his correct, albeit cheeky retort, her hand quickly points towards the door and she raises her voice to a point teetering on the edge of shouting.

"Perhaps the Principle's office will help correct those awful manners."

Doubt it, he thinks to himself as he packs up his things and strolls out of the classroom, giving his teacher a sarcastic salute on the way out.

The walk was a familiar one for him in the past few months since his last foray into the world of heroism. With everything that happened- and the fact that nobody knows what someone sacrificed for them- he has watched himself decline.

Every single week, he sits down silently in his room and tries to persuade himself this is the week he's going to crawl back to his usual academic competency, but every time he fails.

Normally, he would try and talk to Robin about it, however since the team was tore down, contact with his friends hasn't been possible; Batman has a tight leash on Robin, that's for sure.

Barry could try the same with him, although his uncle hasn't exactly been speaking to him recently either. It's as though they have forgotten he was a hero at all.

Fortunately, he's managed to somewhat stay in contact with Conner, M'gann, and Artemis. Although, Kaldur isn't an option because he's under the sea, probably swimming amongst the fishes and singing 'Under the Sea'.

Flopping onto the chair outside of the Principle's office, he closes his eyes and imagines the feeling of the wind on his face as he runs throughout the city.

Because of the incident, Barry has somewhat banned him from using his speed until he says he can.

Being the decent nephew he is, he decided he would accept the decision of his uncle without too much hassle, if only to deflect any concern headed his way.

It doesn't take long before the Principal opens his door and beckons for him to enter.

Begrudgingly, he shuffles in and closes the door behind him, taking a seat in front of the senior man.

Cool and sharp, the Principle's green eyes are dull and his greying hair is combed over perfectly with a sticky gel. His hands are displayed in front of him completely parallel to each other, lying on the walnut desk without a sliver of movement.

"Here we are again, Mr West."

If Wally were to be inside of Mount Justice, he'd expect to be receiving a briefing from Batman with the sheer level of seriousness coming from the man before him.

Still, the Principal was nowhere near as intimidating and frightening as the Batman. And, Wally believes he knows the ginger teenager isn't afraid of his authority routine.

Reckoning that might be one of the reasons he doesn't like Wally- as well as his rapidly declining grades and poor behaviour- he decided to play along for now, because he's really given up on resisting.

"What happened, Wallace? You were doing perfectly fine, and now-"

"I'm failing and getting disciplinary cautions," he finishes the Principle's sentence, sighing. "Believe me, my parents don't fail to remind my existence every single day"

"Yes. If you're so aware of your behaviour, why haven't you solved it?" the middle-aged man asks with a hint of curiosity and an aftertaste of concern.

"Let's just say that I've... lost a friend," he answers honestly, more so than he usually does.

Normally, he avoids the questions about why his behaviour changed so suddenly and just gets on with it, but he guesses that now is as convenient as any other time.

Receiving Wally's answer with a quick twinkle of sympathy in his otherwise serious eyes, the recipient mouth twitches.

Leaning back into his chair and easing his posture, the Principal mumbles, "I see."

The man stares directly at Wally without blinking, as though trying to think of what to do next.

"You know when people say that it gets better with time," Wally starts, "does it actually get better? I mean, it's been six months and I still can't forget about it."

"People die, Wallace. Animals die. Plants die. But do you know what never dies?"

Wally finds himself unwillingly shaking his head after failing to come up with a witty remark.

"True friendship," the Principal answers his own question, a thin smile appearing on his face. "Honour that friendship, and live up to what that friend would have wanted. There's no point in trying to forget, so just embrace it and use it to fuel you forwards."

Words stinging his chest like darts thrown against a board, he comes to realise perhaps he isn't doing justice to Kyle's memory. Kyle wouldn't have wanted him to waste his life pretending to be someone he isn't; he did that himself when he tried so hard to continue the illusion he was an arrogant idiot.

"That will be all. You're free to leave."

Without him telling his hands to, they grasp his bag and his legs stand up from the chair, walking over to the door.

Opening it, he stands in the doorway for a second before saying, "thanks."

Closing the door behind him, he strides down the hallway, ears deafened as though he was underwater. The usual chaos which ensues around him seems to quieten down until the point of silence.

All that's left is a self-reflective speedster, and his thoughts.

Focus. Control. Free of emotion.

Richard Grayson's brain drowns in the dark mantra, plunging his head into a river of blackness and baptising him with viciousness and brutality.

Stalking him is the Batman, masquerading as a shirtless Bruce Wayne.

Circling around the young bird with intent, the teenager returns the movements with his agile and light feet, daring to mix in some mild acrobatics with the circle to try and put off the older man.

Outside of the training session stands the elder butler Alfred, gazing on with keen eyes, searching for any visible sign of serious injury to Richard.

Of course, he never even tries to look for harm on Bruce, because Dick rarely touches the Batman during the numerous sparring sessions.

Bruce nods silently, asking for a sign that Dick is ready.

Robin answers with a reciprocal nudge of the head, eyes focused on the large and muscular form before him.

If Alfred hasn't been staring at the two so vigorously, he might have missed the beginning of the action as the two spring forwards towards each other.

Energy building in his ankles, just before they collide, Richard flips above Bruce.

However, the Batman apparently saw the move coming, grabbing his foot and attempting to slam him to the ground, but being an agile and youthful person, Dick manages to squirm from his grasp and lands on his one foot, before receiving a side kick straight to his solar plexus.

Raising his hands into a fighting stance and trying his best to breath calmly despite the panic rising naturally from his body, he charges Bruce, feinting by moving his right shoulder and then coming in with a left hook.

Obviously, Bruce sees it coming and catches his fist, using Dick's own momentum to launch him harshly onto the floor by tripping him.

Feeling the familiar taste of metallic blood in his mouth, the young bird flips to his feet and dashes backwards to make some distance between them.

"You're too predictable," Bruce speaks up, though he doesn't quite know whether his adopted father is being serious or taunting him.

Bruce is like that: everything he says when in Batman mode can have multiple different interpretations simply because his tone and body language remains the same throughout.

Predict this, he thinks, swiftly picking up a mug and launching it at Bruce's head.

For a second, he actually believed he could have hit Bruce with it, although the man simply caught it as though it was a baseball.

Still holding the pottery, he beckons for his protege to stand down.

"Couldn't you have been a little more careful, Master Bruce?" Alfred sighs, coming over to Richard and checking on his condition.

"No. The criminals won't, so neither should I," the Batman stubbornly responds as per usual, making his butler roll his eyes.

"Might I remind you, Master Bruce, that you are not a criminal," the British man says, giving Dick a short smile.

"Why are we stopping?" the boy hero known as Robin asks, walking over to Bruce.

"Because, you need to get ready."

He gives Bruce a raised eyebrow. "Get ready for what exactly?"

"To go back to Mount Justice," his father indifferently responds, perhaps ignoring the confused expression on his son's face.

"So, that's it?" he asks, astounded. "After six months of you telling me nothing, you're just going to decide that I'm to go back all of a sudden."

"It was a League decision, for your best interests," Bruce replies, his furrowed brow hinting he might not fully understand why Richard is being so confrontational.

Figures, he inwardly sighs.

"It was the League which disbanded it in the first place. We were ready for this six months ago."

"Maybe you were ready. Not everyone can deal with the pain of losing someone so close," Bruce counters, referring to how Dick had lost both of his parents a long time ago.

"So... what's that reason? I mean, why now of all times?" he questions the brooding and scarred Bruce Wayne, somewhat accusing him of setting things into motion as he normally does. "Since I'm assuming you proposed the idea."

"It's time for you to make a choice," Bruce ignores the question. "Either you can rejoin, or you can leave."

"Why would I leave? After everything we have been through together?"

Bruce's eyes steel. "Don't get too attached. People die. Heroes die."

"And what if I died, huh? Would you be saying the same thing," Dick asks, genuinely curious as to how he would respond to that circumstance.

Though, nothing could prepare him for the response he got.

"Yes, I would. You chose this life, and the consequences are on you alone."

"Master Bruce," Alfred raises voice in a warning tone.

Then, the butler turns to the young acrobat. "Come on, Master Richard, it's time for something to eat," he says, placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him away.

Dick can feel Bruce's relentless eyes blaze into his back as he is led away.

Does he really not care?

"Don't mind him, Master Richard, you know how he can be at times," the butler soothes him, giving the boy a warm smile. "Besides, he'll regret what he said in a few minutes, as he always does."

"Do you know how the others are? Let's just say that he hasn't let me speak to many of them," Richard asks, wanting to divert the conversation away from the skulking vigilante behind him.

Exiting the bat cave and entering Wayne manor through the fireplace, Alfred motions for him to sit down, wandering off to the kitchen, presumably to make him something to eat.

Seating himself, his ribs and back ache badly, reminding him to perhaps take it easier next training session.

Eyes drifting to the fireplace, he looks at the photograph of Bruce and him with Christmas hats on.

Back then, things were a lot simpler than they are right now; no superpowers apart from the rare villains who had them, and it was just the dynamic duo taking on the streets of Gotham as a unit, and not mentor and apprentice.

The familiar sound of the fireplace opening occurs, and Bruce steps into the manor, standing there for a few minutes before turning to him.

"Want to play some basketball?"

"Yeah," he answers, a thin smile forming. "I'm going to beat you this time."

Skating down the road and weaving through the various cars and trucks with the reflexes of a speedster, he almost closes his eyes to take in the feeling of the wind blowing on his face. It doesn't compare to how it does when running with the speed force, but it's close enough.

Ignoring the beeps and angry curses flung his way from angry drivers, he focuses on his journey home, even attempting a trick at one point, although nearly crashing to the ground and completely embarrassing himself.

When one driver makes a threatening move towards him with his car, he sighs heavily and heads onto the sidewalk, instead having to deal with the fury of pedestrians. Of course, it's mostly the elders who seem to be furious.

If only I could run, I would be there already.

Still, with the momentum he has gained on his skateboard, he's going at a fairly breakneck speed.

To anyone else, he would be a crazy kid looking to land face first into the cold, hard floor.

Then again, not many people can go at these speeds and still watch everything in slow motion.

To him, he's a slug struggling to get back under a rock, and being tortured with the sight of the world moving by around him.

Passing into his street and spotting his house towards the latter end of the road, he begins to slow down, coming to a complete halt directly in front of the door.

Kicking the board into his hand, before pausing a second to admire the rare piece of dexterity, he shrugs and opens the door.

As usual, it's relatively quiet, with his parents being at work still.

Before the team was disbanded, he hated the silence; he always needed someone to talk to, just so he could remain sane. Now, he enjoys the quietness of the house, as it gives him time to ponder.

Kyle would probably be calling him a loner if he was still here, but that's something he just has to guess, considering he isn't around to make solidify the assumption.

Heading straight to the fridge, his fingers tap a variety of items, including some cheese and meat.

Deciding to take the carb option, he pulls out the cheese and gets some biscuits from a cupboard, placing the cheese on top and stuffing his mouth with it, allowing the strong cheddar to water his mouth.

And just like that, it disappeared again.

"I can't even enjoy food anymore," he mumbles to himself, feet banging on the stairs as he bounds up them.

Admiring the organised mess which he calls his humble abode, he immediately face palms his bed.

"Pull yourself together man," he scolds himself, his voice amusingly muffled by the face-full of bed sheets. "Even Conner will probably be less grumpy than you."

"Wow," a young voice interrupts his episode, causing him fall of the bed. "What's happened to you, Wally?"

Picking up his aching frame from the ground, his eyes settle on Richard Grayson.

Annoyed, he puts his hands on his waist. "Really?!"

"Yep, really."

"You remember when I told you that the door is always open to you? Yeah, I didn't mean when nobody's home."

A smile cultivates on Dick's face, and soon they both start chuckling, embracing each other.

"It's good to see you, man," he greets his old friend warmly.

"You too," his friend replied.

"Judging by the fact you are here, I'm guessing we're back in business?"

"The League wants the team back together. You up for it?" Robin asks, holding out his hand.

"Hell yeah," the speedster says, grasping his hand and shaking it, before doing a fist bump.

"Uhh... just let me... tell my parents first."

A/N

Question Time!

1) Rating out of ten, and why, if you can.

2) Any criticisms?

3) How long ago were you introduced to Young Justice: New Hopes/First Season.