AN) HEY! Willy Wonka had its closing night Sunday! I start school Wednesday! I get to see Wicked Saturday! I'm busy bee! I hope you enjoy this my fanfriends!
He shivered, his teeth bouncing together in his skull. People bustled by him, ignoring how he stumbled. He was weak…he had died a week ago for crying out loud! The ground below him biting at his heels every time he placed his foot down.
Dick winced, continuing to walk. He had no clue where to go. He didn't want to get involved with anything too big, but he needed help. As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed help. Robin didn't need help. Robin could protect himself. But Dick Grayson couldn't. And Dick Grayson was stuck in a world where waving the name 'Wayne' around couldn't get him whatever he wanted. He was helpless…and he hated it.
A cough racked his frame, Dick's throat felt rough. He was thirsty. Maybe if he found a park there could be a water fountain. He let the idea place itself in his brain. He needed to find another homeless person. But as he looked around, he didn't see any. Maybe he was in the nicer part of town. He needed to get to a bad part. That might seem like a terrible idea to a sensible person, but in the slums and back alleys was were the poor lived. And Robin could speak from experience, that those who had little, often had the biggest hearts.
He turned the street corner, passing a hot dog vendor. Dick kept his head down, trying to ignore the now numbing pain that shot through his bare feet as they made contact with the ice cold pavement.
"Hey kid!" Dick jumped, feeling someone grab the back of his hood. He turned, looking up at a teenager twice his height. The boy removed his hand off the younger's hood. "Where are your shoes?"
Dick stared up at the boy. He had pitch black hair with bright eyes. They were strange, a cross of Dick's own and Wally's. Bright blue with flecks of seaweed green in them. He was caught staring.
"I…I don't have any." He answered, a faint blush climbing up his face. The teen scowled, looking the kid over. He was short. His hair was a little wet, his face pale. His eyes were the deepest blue he had ever seen. Leaning over, the teen slipped his right sneaker off. "I-I can't take your shoes." The boy stammered.
"I live right over there." The teen pointed toward the apartments Dick had walked by only minutes before. "I'll run home and get a new pair. You shouldn't be walking around barefoot in the snow."
"Thanks." Dick murmured, shocked as the sea eyed stranger knelt, shoving Dick's feet into his own shoes. The teen laced them tightly. Grinning at the freezing boy. His heart seemed to ache for the boy, done up in a huge hoodie, though it seemed to provide little heat.
He grabbed the boy's hand, pulling him back a few feet. Dick almost fell, stumbling in surprise over the huge shoes. His feet had gone numb, but now there was a little warmth—tiny pricks of heat covering them. The teen talked to the vendor, smiling all the while. How could someone in nothing but socks be so happy?
The teen handed over a burning hot wrap of tin foil, passing the plastic bottle into Dick's other hand. Dick's jaw dropped, a total stranger had bought him a hot dog and a water.
"Why?" He asked, the only thing he could mutter. The teen shrugged.
"It's almost Christmas. Try out the 8th street chapel. It's across town but there's good people there, I promise."
"I will thanks." The teen turned to go. "Wait!" Dick couldn't take food and shoes from a stranger without knowing their name. "What's your name?"
"Percy." The boy smiled.
"I-I'm Dick." He felt like he could tell a random stranger his name, Percy had helped him. When no one else even looked at him. Percy smiled.
"Merry Christmas Dick."
"Merry Christmas Percy."
Percy turned back to his house, his feet starting to ache in the cold. Mom might not be too thrilled that he had given away his shoes—but that was someone's son. Someone's cousin, friend or brother. For Percy to ignore Dick, was like for him to ignore Tyson. Dick was someone's Tyson.
Dick watched the retreating back. He smiled, turning himself. The cap popped off the water bottle easily. The hot dog got ketchup all over his chin, but it was warm—and the kind of food Alfred never, ever let him eat. Percy had said the 8th street chapel was a place to look. Dick looked up at the cloudy sky. It had taken him almost all day to get into this part of the city—which he had deduced to be Queens from all the signs. If 8th street was across town, he wouldn't make it there until tomorrow.
He sighed, shoving the bottle in his pocket—using his now free hand to flip up his hood. He had a long walk, might was well get started.
Breakline
His back was dripping with sweat. Arms slapping down to his sides—earbuds bouncing about as they hung down his shirt. Roy popped them back in, crouching into position. Wally stood at the other end of the track with Bruce, a stopwatch in the elder's hand. Wally shouted to signal the start, and he was running.
His breath was short, his hands held straight out, arms moving stiffly. He gritted his teeth against the pain festering in his calves, panting as Banner shouted out his time. Still not under a minute.
He stood straight, even though he wanted to double over Wally had said that leaning over constricts the ribcage against your lungs—actually making it harder to breathe.
"A-Again." He huffed out, ignoring how his legs wobbled under his weight. Wally glared at him.
"You're going to pass out from lag of oxygen."
"N-No I won't."
"You can't breathe." Roy tried to shoot back a 'yes I can' but his throat was dry.
"You need to take a break, doctor's orders." Bruce demanded, his ton leaving no room for argument.
"I'm going to take a lap." Wally was beginning to stretch. Roy caught his arm as he pulled it across his chest.
"No."
"Ray, I want to run." Wally's eyes were sad, but Roy couldn't let Wally run. He would forget to hide his speed and go too fast.
"No."
"Dude, please. I need to run."
"You'll give it away." He whispered in his ear. Wally scowled, he was tired of having to go so slow. It was painstaking, agonizing! But Roy wasn't going to let him run. "Your speed is the only advantage we have over them." Roy was still whispering, though he pulled away—since Bruce was starting to give them weird looks.
Wally knew this. He knew Roy was paranoid of them. But he didn't see why he was. Thor was really cool, he had the best stories to share. Nat was wicked, smocking hot too. Steve was a great guy to play ping-pong with. Tony and Bruce were the best science buddies ever! The lab, totally sweet. Clint was the only one Wally didn't really like—but he had apologized. Still didn't bring his brother back. Wally could understand not really liking Clint, but Roy hated everyone. Even JARVIS and Pepper. It was ridiculous. Anger was boiling inside him, didn't Roy know running was how he coped? Running made him feel better. He had a gut twisting feeling inside him—it never went away. If he ran, at least it would be gone for a little while.
"Robin would've let me run." He mumbled, Roy's eyes growing wider—then narrowing in anger. Wally matched him.
"Robin's not here. I am, and you're going to have to listen to me."
"Well you're stupid! I need to run Ray! That's how I cope, I need to go fast!"
"Why didn't you go faster with Robin?" Roy shouted, his eyes burning with fire. "Why didn't you run ahead?" Wally froze, his gut falling into the pit of his shoes. He couldn't move couldn't breathe. His blood, which had been boiling, was running cold. "It's your fault he's dead you know?" That question cut him like a knife. He knew. Every second that he had and Robin didn't he knew. "It's your fault I held him while he died!" Roy was screaming now, tears falling across his face.
Bruce stepped up to Wally, placing a hand on the stunned boy's shoulder. "That's enough Raymond." His voice was sharp, the shy doctor never spoke this way before.
Roy flicked him off. Bruce glaring. Wally finding his voice.
"I know." He choked out, tears weren't falling though—just because he felt like crying didn't mean he could. "I know he's dead because of me, okay? I'm sorry."
The anger in his brother's eyes didn't die like he hoped it would. Roy didn't stand down and encase him in a hug, apologizing for what he said. Wally just watched, he watched his brother's lip curl in anger—disgust. He was frozen as the word's dripped out of Roy's lips like acid—burning Wally's ears. Bruce's grip on his shoulder tightened as the words hit him like a wicked left hook. Roy turned, stalking away—leaving the phrase just hanging in the air. Leaving Wally to sink to his knees, staring after the hero he idolized. The brother he loved, the friend he wanted to be with. Letting the words echo in his head.
"I wish it had been you."
Breakline
The room was bright, the heater cranked all the way up. Emily had brought in a radio so carols were blaring about them as they bustled around. It had begun to snow heavily, wind tearing at the corners of the small church. The storm had struck up earlier that day, and had been raging for hours. She was glad she made Peter come along—the storm raging outside could take down the power, and May Parker knew if anyone could fix that it would be her nephew.
Peter was helping Matthew and Luke carry in the boxes of canned goods from Luke's truck—all three wearing thick winter coats. They were getting ready for the soup kitchen the church served every Thursday. And making decorations for the upcoming holiday.
It was rather like a party, hot chocolate and donuts were served. People were talking and laughed. May was carrying a box of candles up from the basement—as she passed the door she heard the faintest of sounds. A gentle tap at the door, followed by a more urgent one. Setting the box down, she felt the smooth handle under her hand as she opened the door a crack, curious to see who was outside in such a terrible storm.
"Hello?" She asked, looking down when there was no one her height before her. A hand fly up to May's mouth, eyes widening at the thin frame before her.
There was a mop of black hair, though white powder covered the top. It hung low, covering most of the eyes. They eyes were young, so innocent—yet tired. The deep blue resonated pain. A child's face looked back at her, a pale nearly ghost white face. Bright red flushed around the face. He didn't have a coat, no scar or gloves—not even a hat! The poor thing's ear were bright red. The child's clothes were worse. A thin sweatshirt and athletic shorts were all that covered hem—just standing in the doorway in a thick sweater made May shiver a little. The boy's shoes were almost wearing through. The child shook, trembling in the cold. A cough raked his frame, it sounded like even breathing would knock him over.
"P-Please…" He whispered, coughing into his ungloved hand. "C-Can I come in?"
She threw the door open, practically dragging the child into the warmth. He doubled over, hacking up a lung.
"Oh my goodness." Sarah Johnson was at the child's side. The old woman kneeling next to the boy, feeling his forehead and grabbing his hands. "He's frozen solid! Ed, get the boy something hot to drink!" She ordered her husband.
May waved Peter over, the scrambling boy looking worriedly at the child. "Give him your coat Peter, stay with him. I'm going to call the reverend."
He nodded shrugging off the thick fabric. The boy had been ushered away, being lead to a pew. Ed held a thick cup of hot chocolate, Luke Miles running back in with an emergency blanket he had in his truck. Peter wrapped the coat around the boy. Ed let him take the cup, tipping it up against the freezing boy's lips. Thin hands wrapped around Peter's own—the teen jumping at the ice cube feeling they gave him. The boy drank heavily, draining the cup and shivering.
Peter thought his lips looked a little blue. The kid looked at him, mouthing a tired 'Thank you' as he pulled the jacket and blanket tighter around him.
"Hey…" He wasn't exactly sure what to say to the kid. "My name's Peter Parker. What's yours?"
His teeth chattered for a second, the boy swallowing his shivers enough to speak. "D-Dick Wayne." He whispered. Peter sat next to him, wrapping his arm around the boy—trying to add more heat to the pile.
"What're you doing out? Where's your coat? Where do you live?" The questions were spewing out of him.
"H-Haven't got a coat." Dick coughed, he sounded like he was dying. "O-Or a house. I-I'd d-don't have anywhere to go."
AN) Dick was out in a blizzard for a whole day, after taking an hour or so long swim in freezing waters. His immune system isn't up to its normal standards, so he's very very sick. Also playing it up a bit but he's sick. I hope you enjoyed! Please review, I love reviews.
Hammie: Me too! Weview so Momma can wite some mowe with me! And I gets away from dat nasty Spot.
Spot: Yous da nasty one ya brat.
ME: Spot, Alexander…play nice.
Hammie: Spot's a wedcoat!
Spot: Hammie's a scabber!
ME: See what I live with?! Someone give me something to read to escape the madness!
