A Bird Cusses and a Martian Plays Peacekeeper
To say that Wally was shocked would be…an understatement.
A serious, serious understatement.
It felt like the world expanded, stretched, then came crashing back into perspective. Except now the sun was blue, or the trees had purple leaves. Like everything was wrong.
Everything had shifted slightly to the left, just enough to be disconcerting.
His mouth was probably hanging open, hands slack as he stared at the vigilante—detective?
Wally didn't even want to think about it.
Apparently, he wasn't the only one finding this hard to swallow.
"You mean you're our Dick? Not a dick but like Dick Dick?" Artemis was scrutinizing him from over the couch, disbelief and horror battling it out on her features.
Nightwing—Dick?—crossed his arms and huffed at her, slouching where he sat, the picture of nonchalance. Meanwhile, Wally reeled like he'd just gotten a slap to the face.
But…now that he was looking for it, the mannerisms were all there. He could see Detective Grayson in the tense line of Nightwing's shoulders; the invisible weight that always seemed to be pulling them down.
The height, physique, and hair colour were all the same, too. Even though Grayson usually wore his hair styled back, while Nightwing's was flopping over his forehead in a sweaty poof.
Actually, now that Wally was looking at him, the speedster didn't know how they hadn't figured it out sooner. There was almost no barrier between the disguises.
But, c'mon, Richard Wayne-Grayson? A vigilante? The idea was laughable.
And yet, here they were.
Richard Wayne-Grayson.
Wayne.
Richard Wayne Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne.
Bruce.
Wally froze as a horrible thought occurred to him.
The man's physique, hidden beneath baggy suits. The wide shoulders, the glare that sometimes slipped out when he was dealing with a particularly nosey paparazzi. The location, Wayne's investment in Gotham's crime…
Impossible, right? Yet everything was suddenly starting to make a lot more sense.
"No," Wally's eyes widened, staring at the figure on their couch like he'd just grown a second head. "Wait, no. No way."
"What?" Artemis barked, "What is it?"
"Does—does that mean Batman is Bruce freakin' Wayne?"
Artemis staggered back like she'd been struck, her hand flying to her mouth as she turned to stare at Nightwing. Even Kaldur, usually left unshaken by even the most of brutal secrets, looked taken aback.
"There's no way," The archer breathed out, stumbling away and almost tripping over the uneven floorboards. "There's no way. No way in hell, no—"
"How about we let Nightwing explain himself, hm?" M'gann hummed, pausing in her re-assembly of the first aid kit. "I'm sure he can explain."
"Way to throw me under the bus," Nightwing—Dick? Wally didn't know what to call him—muttered beneath his breath. His posture was still slouched defensively, gloved hands never straying far from his belt.
Oddly slick looking gloves, barely visible in the semi-darkness. Wally squinted, trying to determine what was coating them, then realized—
"Is that blood? Artemis, turn on the lights!" The speedster moved towards the couch, only to have Nightwing flatten himself even further into the cushions, glaring at him.
And then there was some kind of knife in the vigilante's hand—shaped like a bird?—and being aimed directly at Wally's chest.
"Alright, alright, jeez!" He raised his hands, palm up, hoping to convey how un-stabbable he was. "I'll stay back. Artemis, lights!"
The overhead light flared to life in its dirty socket, chasing away the rooms shadows and illuminating the situation.
Had the circumstances not been so dire, Wally might've actually laughed at the unexpected affect the light had on Nightwing.
The vigilante went from looking like a part of the night, black and imposing, to an annoyed and narrow eyed young adult late to a costume party.
"Ow," Nightwing hissed at them, lifting up a hand to cover his face only to wince at the movement. The knife, in a motion so smooth Wally couldn't follow it, vanished into the belt slung around his waist. "Warn a guy next time before you put a spotlight on him."
Artemis looked up at their dim blub, to the vigilante, then back again. "It's…not a spotlight. In fact, it's barely a light at all."
"Oh. Damn." Nightwing dropped his hand into his lap. Wally stared at the drying blood on it, red rust flaking against black Kevlar. The vigilante squinted through his mask up at the naked bulb, "Really?"
Conner, who had been suspiciously silent after his little bombshell of 'Yeah I know the identity of the guy we've been pursuing this whole time, what's it to you?' earlier, finally deemed them worthy of hearing his voice. "He's concussed. Can't you tell?"
"No, Conner," Artemis spat, looking tense as a cornered alley cat. "We don't all have Superman hearing and sticks-up-our-butts. What the hell happened to you?"
The last question was directed at Nightwing, if her annoyed glare at him was anything to go by.
Wally, who liked to think he'd gotten pretty good at determining Artemis' many moods, recognized this one as 'concern.'
The archer was just a little (read: extremely) emotionally stunted. When she was worried, she tended to get a little…aggressive.
"That's what we have to talk about. That's why I'm here, doing this." Nightwing grunted, shuffling his body forward on the couch, inch by painstaking inch. "I ran into—"
"How about we patch you up first?" M'gann, ever the peacekeeper, held up the first aid kit like an olive branch. "Then we can talk. Does that sound good?"
The vigilante eyed her for a moment, frame tense, before he nodded. "But you have to promise me something."
"Why you little—" Artemis started, only to be cut off by M'gann's soft, "Of course."
The white lenses of his mask narrowed at them each in turn. "You can't tell the League who I am."
The reactions were instantaneous.
Artemis threw her hands up into the air, immediately protesting. Kaldur defaulted to his slightly less stoic than usual expression, one that Wally knew meant he was significantly surprised.
Wally himself was more than a little shocked. The whole reason for this mission in the first place was to find out Nightwing's identity and, if possible, bring him to the Justice League for interrogation.
After that, he wasn't sure what the League wanted. To arrest Nightwing? Convert him to herodom?
That was back when they'd thought the murder in the warehouse had been Nightwing's doing, when they still hadn't had confirmation that he used to operate as Robin.
When they'd been told he was just a new vigilante, another wannabe hero chasing glory and fame while skirting around the law.
To ask them not to hand him in, not to go through with their assignment, was ludicrous. Crazy.
So why was Wally genuinely considering it?
Conner was the only one who seemed unaffected, his stony expression leaking some of the tension from the room. "Agreed."
"Wait!" Artemis turned on him, "You can't agree to that. The League has to know, we have to tell them. Especially about Wayne, I mean, can you imagine—"
"Agreed," Kaldur seconded Conner, gently placing his hand on Artemis' shoulder. "We agree not to tell the League anything until we've at least heard you out." His eyes narrowed, looking as threatening as someone could in a silk bathrobe and plaid pyjama pants. "After that, we shall see."
Nightwing considered this for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding once. "Good enough. Now can someone turn off that light? It's killing me."
"Drama queen," Artemis muttered bitterly, but Wally couldn't help but notice she did as he asked, switching off the overhead bulb.
As soon as the room was dark again, Nigthwing huffed. "Great. Now someone turn on a lamp, I can't see anything."
Wally wasn't sure whether to laugh or scoff. The audacity of this man.
"Yes, your majesty," Wally bit out under his breath, but he couldn't help the way his lips curved slightly into a smile. At least if the vigilante was being this lippy, he couldn't be that injured.
Right?
After turning on the apartment's three lamps, their living room washed in a soft glow, they sat. The overhead bulb remained off and the lamps weren't even that bright, but Nightwing still narrowed his eyes at them irritably.
Kaldur sank into one of the threadbare armchairs, pulling a ratty afghan over his legs while Conner sat cross-legged on the floor behind M'gann, arms crossed over his imposing chest as he stared Nightwing down.
Nightwing seemed utterly unaffected by the clone's stony glare. He made grabby hands at the first aid kit, causing Artemis to snort and Wally's smile to widen.
"What are you, six?" The archer muttered as M'gann passed him the kit, all the materials successfully untangled and re-organized.
"Twenty," He reminded them brightly. "And also in a great deal of physical pain." He scrutinized the first aid kits contents, "Got any dental floss? Preferably not mint, that stuff stings."
Kaldur let out a put-upon sigh before sliding out of his seat. "I'll get some. No dying, maiming, or fighting while I'm gone."
"No promises," Nightwing called after his retreating form. Kaldur's accompanying sigh was so loud it echoed down the hall toward them.
"Soo," Wally said after a moment of silence. "Bruce Wayne, eh?"
Nightwing, who had yet to actually confirm Wally's theory, turned a truly terrifying glare on the speedster. He didn't say anything, just stared.
Maybe he wasn't glaring, but…contemplating? Contemplating how much he should tell them.
Wally did his best to look trustful, though judging by the vigilante's scoff he'd failed spectacularly.
Nightwing seemed to deflate a bit, gaze falling to the first aid kit in his lap. "I guess you would've figured it out sooner or later."
An inhuman sort of gasp slipped past Wally's lips, "I was right?!"
"No way," Artemis repeated. "No way. Bruce Wayne?"
Conner rumbled from behind M'gann. "It is a little surprising."
"A little?" Wally turned on him. "I feel like my whole world was just cracked open."
Artemis nodded. "Shattered. I mean, how does that even work? He's so—" She made a fluttery gesture with her hand, "And Batman's so—" then crushed her fist into her palm. "You know?"
Nightwing eyed her, a bemused twist to his lips. "Weirdly enough, yes. I do."
"So, what, you guys have a giant mancave under Wayne Manor? An edgy waterfall with a ramp?" Wally chuckled at the image.
Nightwing just bit his lip, staring down at the first aid kit again.
No way. "You're kidding, right? A giant mancave?"
"He calls it the 'batcave'," The vigilante muttered. Then he glared through his mask again. "Why am I telling you this?"
"It's my natural charm," Wally batted his eyelashes. "People just can't help themselves."
Artemis snorted and tapped his cheek. "More like your permanent babyface."
"No, he definitely seduced me," Nightwing deadpanned. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."
Wally was going to assume he was kidding. It was honestly hard to tell, what with the mask and everything.
Speaking of.
"You ever going to take that off?" He motioned at the vigilante's disguise. "I mean, since we already know who you are…"
Truthfully, Wally just wanted to be sure.
There was still a part of him—a tiny part of him—that was certain Nightwing was pulling their collective legs. Or lying so he could get medical treatment. Or both.
But, if he was lying, why use such an outrageous one?
And then there was the way he carried himself, the pallor of his skin. That witty twist to the corners of his mouth.
Still, though, there was always a chance this was some elaborate gag. A joke.
Then Nightwing peeled his mask off, and any lingering doubts flew out the window and got obliterated by a passing semitruck.
There was no denying it; Nightwing was Detective Dick Grayson.
He was, unfortunately, gorgeous.
Wally was straight, don't get him wrong, but he knew when men objectively looked good. And there was no doubt in his mind that this man, objectively, looked very good.
Even with a swollen nose and generally roughed up face—one eye blackening around the corners and blood covering the other—he could see why the 'Prince of Gotham' had such a large female fanbase.
Artemis grunted, which probably meant she was seeing it too and getting annoyed with the discovery.
Sure, they'd seen his face before, but not in this context. Not since they'd figured out (read: been told) that he was a vigilante.
Dick, Wally didn't feel as strange calling him by his name now that the mask was off, sunk low enough into the couch that his posture curved like a croissant. "I already told you it was me." He glared at Wally, particularly at the speedster's wagging jaw, "Something constructive might come out of your mouth for once if you keep it open like that."
Ouch, but valid. "Sorry. Just surprised, is all."
M'gann, ever tactful, merely smiled and leaped to her feet. "I'll grab some ice for that eye. It looks nasty."
It was a little surreal, seeing Nightwing—seeing Dick—nod his head, sweaty hair flipping over his eyes as he turned his gaze back to the first aid kit.
Grunting, he pulled at the fingers of his gloves until they were loose before slipping them off, tossing them onto the couch beside him without a second glance.
Wally blinked at the exposed skin, still trying to put together the grumpy cop they'd been working with and the equally grumpy vigilante they'd been hunting.
He wasn't entirely sure he was successful.
The Martian returned with a bag of freezer burnt peas, frost clinging to their plastic wrapping like a second skin. She smiled softly at Wally before dumping the peas into Grayson's lap.
The vigilante arched a brow at her and remarked, "Cold."
"No kidding," Artemis shot at him. Despite the nonchalance of her tone, Wally could read the tension in her muscles; she found this just as strange as he did.
Grayson ignored her, merely scooping up the peas with his free hand and pressing them against his inflamed cheek. "I'm taking my shirt off, so look away unless you want a strip tease."
Artemis cursed foully under her breath, coloured significantly, then spun around in her chair as if their apartment wall was suddenly the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.
Conner and M'gann did the same, crowding against each other on the floor. For a second, Wally felt a hot pang of—of something at their casual familiarity.
He'd always wanted a relationship like that. Something like his Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry had, a kind of seemingly effortless romance.
Frowning, he dropped his stare down to his lap, feeling oddly annoyed with himself.
"Someone kick a puppy or something?" Artemis' rough voice snapped at him. She aggressively patted the empty space beside her. "Come here, stupid."
The wattage of Wally's grin could've lit up Vegas, but he didn't care. He forcibly had to stop himself from flashing to her side.
The archer rolled her eyes, likely at his lovesick expression, but leaned her shoulder against his all the same.
Grayson paused, glancing between them like they were an especially interesting book. The look on his face could only be described as mischievous. "When's the wedding, you two?"
"Shut up," Artemis hissed, quickly turning back towards the wall before Grayson could see the dark flush colouring her cheeks.
Wally could see it, though, and his smile grew almost double in size. Forget Las Vegas, his happiness could power the whole Eastern seaboard. He was ecstatic! He was overjoyed! He was—
Getting punched in the side.
Artemis withdrew her fist and glared like she could hear his sappy thoughts, "Shut up." If not for her blush, he almost would've believed her.
Wally, grinning like an idiot, joined her in studying the apartment's grimy wallpaper. Her shoulder pressed against his, hand gradually twitching closer to his own.
For a second, nothing else really mattered.
There was shuffling behind them as Grayson no doubt slipped out of his costume, the action accompanied by some mild cursing and pained exhales.
"Maybe if it wasn't so tight you wouldn't have such a problem getting out," Wally said, still smiling.
"I will—" There was a muffled grunt, like the vigilante had just pulled something, before he continued. "—actually kill you."
"No," Wally thought of Batman's—of Bruce Wayne's, he could still hardly believe it—anti-killing policy and smirked. "I don't think you would."
"Yeah? Well, screw you. Egotistical little ginger piece of sh—"
The rest of Nightwing's insult, which had nearly caused Wally to bust a lung holding in his laughter, was abruptly cut off by Kaldur's surprised gasp.
There was another rustling sound, like Dick was hunching up again.
Kaldur's footsteps echoed as he took a stuttering step towards the couch. "Detective Grayson, Nightwing, your—"
"Don't."
The response was cold, glittering. Wally could've sworn ice frosted the air. There was no hint of the wisecracking-but-grumpy-detective from earlier.
Kaldur seemed to pause, clearly torn, before moving forward again. "Your chest, that—those. Are those—"
There was the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn, likely from the belt Nightwing was weirdly overprotective of. "Don't."
Wally was half-tempted to turn around, just to see what'd caused their team leader to have such a strange reaction, but he didn't.
His gaze obviously wasn't wanted, and peeping wasn't a boundary he was willing to cross. Ever.
Besides, he wasn't interested in ogling Nightwing's chest. Curious, yes. Interested? No.
Artemis raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't turn either. She, of all people, understood that there were some things better left secret.
For now, at least. They'd have to pry it out of Grayson later.
Wally blinked, half shocked at himself. Later? What later could there be? Nightwing would heal up, tell them about whatever had beaten him to hell and back, then…what?
Disappear? Go back to Gotham? Kill them all and hide the evidence?
Something about those options rubbed Wally the wrong way. He wasn't sure why, they were just…
Wrong.
Silence reigned in the small apartment for a moment, even M'gann and Conner's soft conversation fading to a stop.
Then Kaldur spoke, his voice quiet. "Alright."
"Thank you," Grayson bit out, though it sounded more like a curse. "Now, give me that floss before I bleed out on your couch. And next time make sure there's suturing thread in your damn first aid kit."
Wally grinned and mouthed at Artemis, Next time?
She narrowed her eyes at him before whispering, "Not on my watch."
Kaldur was still for a moment before it sounded like he handed the floss over, then muttered something under his breath that only Grayson—and Conner with his super hearing—could catch.
The vigilante scoffed at the words. "Sure, Kal. Whatever you say." There was enough sarcasm in that statement to kill a small elephant. Maybe a horse, too.
"At least consider it," Kaldur said, diplomatically not commenting on his new nickname, before slipping into the raggedy armchair next to Wally and Artemis' couch. "For later."
"Will do," Grayson said in a tone that made it sound like 'will not'.
But, still, at least he was here. At least he'd finally completed that whole 'stoic-man-who won't-accept-help-from-others-even-if-it-causes-him-to-bleed-out' character arc.
The clock in their apartment ticked in time to Grayson's movements, the accompanying sounds of Kevlar shifting and gauze being slowly unwound.
Even if whatever he had to tell them later was terrible news, right now they were fine.
Right now, with M'gann, Conner, Kaldur, and Artemis obediently facing the wall while Grayson cursed and muttered about 'sticky bandages', Wally couldn't help but smile.
They were fine. They were together.
And, no matter what happened later, they'd face it as a team.
Maybe they'd finally found their missing link after all.
(A/N): It wouldn't be a Nightwing fic without an Angsty Scar Scene™ and ohboy am I gonna deliver
Anywho, I proof read half of this, but if you catch any mistakes lemme know! I'll try and fix 'em
And as always, thank you Thank You THANK YOU for reading! You're all such fantastic people, give yourself a pat on the back. or a flower idk 333
Have a great week yall :D
~ASL