Chapter 3: Staying Whelmed

December 22nd, 2017 03:55

Mt. Justice, Earth-16

Dick Grayson was tired. He'd just gotten back from a mission with Young Justice that hadn't gone all too well; Captain Marvel, who had joined them, was hit by some sort of beam and was now stuck as Billy for an unknown amount of time. All he wanted to do was find Wally and vent. Besides, it'd been forever since they'd found time to hang out.

He walked into the living room and cracked his fingers, trying to relieve the tension that he could. He then grabbed a bag of chips and flipped on the t.v. to the news.

Iris West Allen's kind face stared back at him as she spoke. "On another note, an explosion has been recorded on a video phone on the base of Mt. Zyton. Causes of the explosion are unknown, but witnesses place Superman nearby only hours earlier." Dick smirked. Wally had texted him about that mission and how easy it was going to be.

His cell phone started ringing. Not checking to see who it was, he answered it. "Hey, man. Heard the mission went well." He put the t.v. on mute and reclined on the couch, happy to finally have time to relax.

"It's not Flash." Bruce's voice sounded strained, like he was clenching his jaw or something. Dick rolled his eyes, wondering if he was about to get put on another mission. Oh well.

"Hey, Bats." He greeted. "New mission?"

"You are needed at the Watchtower." Bruce replied shortly. A touch of grief filled his voice. "Flash is dead."

Dick stared with wide eyes at the t.v. as Iris continued to recap the explosion. His hand clenched and before he knew it, his phone snapped in half. Glass cut through his gloves and into his palms, little screws and metal plates dropping into his lap. He felt panic override his mind and clenched his fist harder, feeling little beads of blood drip down it onto the couch.

Zatanna walked in without looking at him. "Hey, Dick. Relaxing?" She walked past him to the kitchen while pulling off her jacket and resting it on the counter. She began raiding the fridge for food, unaware of what was happening.

Dick unceremoniously dropped the broken phone onto the couch and stood up abruptly. "I'm going out." He said shortly, walking out of the room and, after a few minutes, Mt. Justice. He grinned brokenly as the cool night air nipped at his cheeks.

He and Wally had planned on visiting the orphanage for Christmas, in costume. Mostly because the ginger wouldn't shut up about how the kids' two favorite superheroes were Nightwing and Flash.

"You always did have bad timing, West." He muttered, the humor failing to settle into his voice. He walked up to his motorcycle and didn't bother with a helmet, hopping on and revving it before speeding away. He didn't bother with traffic laws, swerving around cars and even settling into the HOV lane so he could go faster. Eventually, he pulled off of the highway and up a dark, two-lane road that wound up a miserable-looking hill.

Once the road became too muddy for him to drive on, he hid his motorcycle behind some bushes and continued on foot. Slowly, as he walked, he began to pass headstones.

He stopped halfway up the hill. The stone engraving before him was still easy to read, and unlike the others hadn't been eroded with weather. He dipped his head and sat cross-legged in front of it, and more than a little of him wanted to break down right then and there. But that would be disrespectful.

"Hey." His voice cracked. He ignored the eerie sounds of the forest at night, the pain that pulsed through his hand and up his arm, and the tiredness that threatened to take over him. He needed to do this. "You asked me, before you died, to take care of Wally."

Silence. It wasn't like he had expected an answer anyway.

"But I failed." He swallowed. "I…I let him die. I couldn't protect him." He felt tears clump his eyelashes, threatening to fall. But he refused to allow them to. "I wasn't strong enough. And I can't stress enough…" The tears fell anyway, spilling onto the muddy ground.

"Barry," He whispered, bowing his head against the tombstone. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and turned to see Batman. Not caring that they hadn't held a decent conversation since their falling out, he let his adoptive father pull him to his feet and into a tight hug.

"Richard," Bruce carded his fingers through his son's hair, supporting both their weights. "There was nothing you could have done."

"It hurts so much, dad." Bruce froze as Dick continued to cry, desperately clinging on to his adoptive father. "I-I can't lose him too. I can't."

Bruce didn't know what to say. He himself knew what it was like to lose loved ones, family, and close friends. He knew that, when he'd tried to be open about it, the first words out of people's mouths were 'I'm sorry'. And he knew how fake those words sounded. So instead he kept his son held tightly in his arms and murmured, "I'm here."