So I lied. I'm starting to believe that, while this fic will definitely have no consistent point of view, it is indeed going to become a collection of oneshots belonging to the same universe. Whooooooops.
Disclaimer: this oneshot is riddled with references to the "Forever Evil" and "Robin Rises" arcs from the New 52.
Title: #chirp
Characters: Wally, Damian, Artemis, Cassandra
Ratings/Warnings: T; rated for language
Category/Pairings: Gen. Mild Artemis/Wally.
Summary: In which Wally and Damian bond over shared guilt and lost opportunities. With guest appearances from Cass and Artemis. Set after Dick Grayson's fake death in the "Forever Evil" arc. Told (mostly) from Wally's POV.
Wally hesitated before rapping his knuckles against the door jam. The sound echoed through the halls, haunting and empty, and he nearly turned heel when he was rewarded with a shatter of glass against the door and a chilling snarl from within. "Nearly" being the key word there.
A normal person might know he was unwelcome, but he was the Flash now, and the Flash didn't cower from a challenge.
Besides, he'd seen Di…well, let's just say Wally had seen others brave far more serious and far more colorful threats (against their very lives—their very manhood, even) coming from that room. And all with a smile.
With a laugh, even.
He'd also seen that very same person proceed to dive bomb into bed and attempt to start a tickle fight, too, so mayyyyybe said example wasn't the best role model. As it happened, said person's sanity was very often called into question when it concerned the mini monster who lurked within the shadows of this particular bedroom.
But that was Dick for you, wasn't it?
A bittersweet smirk forced its way onto Wally's lips, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.
He didn't want to be here. Not like this.
Cass had asked him to come, though. She'd flown in from Hong Kong, taken one look around at her mess of a family, and zeroed in on him within seconds of stepping into the Bat Cave. Him specifically. Not Steph. Not even Bruce. Him.
(Let the record show he wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place—he hadn't been anywhere near Wayne Manor since that day—but he supposed Justice League messenger duty always fell to the rookie of the group. Or so Green Arrow insisted, the old fart).
Wally blew out a breath and closed his eyes. His conscience, sounding far too much like Dick for comfort, poked and prodded at him, demanding why he wasn't getting a move on.
Hello? Fastest man alive? he imagined Dick teasing. Yeah, you're up.
Screw you, he wished he could respond. Screw. You.
And Cass too, while he was at it. Screw the entire Bat Clan, for being the assholes who couldn't get through to one of their own.
If Dick were here, he—
No, no. Wally couldn't think that. 'If, then's and their kindred 'what if's never worked out well in this superhero gig of theirs. Too much of that, and they'd all be driven insane.
Instead, Wally found himself recalling the oppressive atmosphere in the Bat Cave, the shadows under Tim's eyes and the blankness in Bruce's. He recalled Jason's surliness and Steph's raw, red nose. He recalled the weight of overseeing the Team trudge through another training session without their leader, their smiles absent, their chatter nonexistent. The Justice League, the Outsiders, the Titans, the Outlaws…all of them, past and present members, were suffering now.
It had been getting better. It really had, but it was suddenly fresh again. It was inescapable, now that Robin was back. Now that Robin knew.
Wally didn't know why Cass had singled him out, why she'd taken him aside and asked him to do this. He wasn't the person for this. He and the current Robin had never gotten along. He didn't know what to say to the kid. He never did, and they'd avoided each other on principle, even before.
There really was zero obligation. Zero desire. And there were so many other things Wally could be doing right now. He could be snuggling in bed with Artemis. Or continuing the search for Uncle Barry. Or sitting up to watch the news with Aunt Iris. Or literally anything else.
Yet here he stood.
(Maybe because there was one Robin he owed it to. His Robin.)
Wally swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat, a pit of rage and despair, long-ignored, churning deep in his chest.
Fuck it. If worse came to worst, Artemis would know where to find his dead body at the very least.
It couldn't go on. It couldn't.
Pushing the door open, Wally took a tentative step into the pitch-black room. He carefully avoided the broken pottery—a lamp?—that lay scattered before him. Wally almost whistled, seeing the sizable gouge the impact had left in the beautiful oak. It appeared the rumors about the kid's weird Kryptonian-like powers weren't exaggerated.
Wally hadn't been able to take a step more before the ten-year-old in question materialized in front of him, his expression a storm cloud of ire and promises of serious bodily harm. It was only thanks to Wally's familiarity with the Bats' ways that he didn't jump out of his skin.
(Visibly, anyway. Take that, Dick).
It always baffled Wally how someone so small could command such an intense presence. He'd seen adult civilians shy away from the kid, eyeing him up as though they innately knew he could lunge for the throat at any given moment. Even now, he looked ready to attack, his lip curling over sharp, white teeth. His fingers twitched into fists at his side, and ordinarily, Wally would know better than to poke the beast.
Dick would poke anyway. He had a talent for it, for sneaking under skins and either irritating the hell out of you or lowering your defenses until they were nonexistent. It was his superpower.
Wally wasn't Dick. He…he never could be. Never would be.
This was a mistake. He shouldn't be here. He had nothing to say to Damian Wayne. Nothing at all.
"If you wish to retain the use of both of your legs," Damian growled, "you will remove yourself from my threshold at once, West."
Wally found himself rooted to the spot, staring. The last time he'd seen Damian, he'd been lying in a coffin, and he hadn't exactly realized how much he'd missed that voice, impudence included, until he heard it with his own ears. Damian's return was a miracle, truly, and it was one that Wally should have never taken for granted.
Dammit, Wally couldn't even remember the last thing he'd said to Damian before Leviathan descended upon the Bats, before Robin sacrificed himself for the others. All he remembered was the hole Damian had left behind, somehow bigger and far more painful than it was when he'd been kidnapped and presumed dead, years ago.
"Well?" Damian glared up at him, and Wally was struck by how young he was. He was still a child. A child who survived the League of Assassins, who went through hell and back to return home, but a child all the same.
God, and Dick hadn't even been able to see his baby brother come back to life before he…
"I came to talk to you," Wally said awkwardly.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "So whose grand idea was it to make you the sacrificial lamb? Pennyworth? Cassandra?" He scowled, turning away. "It doesn't matter. Leave."
Wally sighed. "Damian—"
The boy moved like lightning, nearly as fast as a speedster. A short dagger flashed in his hand, but Wally was not intimidated as the blade came flying within inches of his face, burying into the drywall with a solid schnick.
Oddly enough, Damian's belligerence didn't feed into Wally's Piss-Off Meter. As he looked dully at the weapon sticking out of the wall, he realized was tired. Exhausted, really. He slowly turned back to Damian, and he finally saw it: the sleepless nights, sunken eyes…and there, Wally's own pain reflected right back at him.
Wally took a deep breath. "Damian," he tried again. "Please, I just—"
"By all means, continue talking," Damian hissed, another dagger slipping from the holster he had strapped to his forearm. "Tempt me to take your tongue as well as your legs."
"Kid, look—"
"Out, West!"
The disagreeable little— Moment of compassion and empathy over. Piss-Off Meter officially swinging into red. Wally could hear Dick practically telling him to be patient, telling him to give the kid a chance, but his voice was drowned out by the sudden roaring in his ears.
"No," Wally said.
Damian's expression slackened in surprise before twisting into a scowl. "Perhaps I was unclear. Get. Out. Or I will make you."
"No," Wally said again, folding his arms. "You know, sometimes I think Dick gave you way too much credit."
Dick's name was the magic word, and Damian faltered, just long enough for Wally to see the vast chasm of vulnerability and grief the kid was doing his utmost to pretend didn't exist. "You know nothing, West."
There was no real heat in his words. None of the scathing disdain that usually characterized them, anyway, and Wally took his chance to press his momentary advantage. "I know Robin's been benched for excessive use of force," he stated bluntly. He caught Damian's arm as the boy tried to turn away. "I know you're not eating, not sleeping. I know you're treating your family and your teammates like shit. I know you're pushing them away. And I know why."
Damian's expression darkened, shrugging off Wally's hand. "Tt. You know nothing," he repeated.
Wally shook his head, and he began shooting in the dark, hoping to land on something that'd get through to Damian. "You can't keep doing this to your friends, Damian. Or yourself, for that matter."
"I do what I please," Damian retorted.
"I'm just saying," Wally said, unable to keep the impatience from edging his tone. Not for the first time, he wondered how anyone could communicate effectively with this little shit. "We just got you back. Dick wouldn't want you to—"
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Damian spun the dagger in his hand and jammed the butt into Wally's kidney. Wally reflexively sped out of the way of a second incoming blow, deflecting Damian's arm before his elbow could meet his jaw. The force behind the elbow would have been enough to knock Wally off his feet had it landed.
"You are no better than the rest of them! None of you know a damn thing about what Grayson would want!" Damian shouted, his voice rising in pitch and volume as he yanked out of Wally's grip. "None of you can so much as assume! Grayson's gone! He's—"
It was a slap in the face, and Wally winced at the impact. "You think I don't understand?" he yelled. "You think I don't know how you feel? He's my best friend!"
"And he's my brother!" Damian shrieked, punching a fist through the wall.
Wally hesitated, the words striking him like the very lightning strike that had given him his powers, every ounce of anger dissipating in the aftermath, and all he could think in that very moment was that Dick would have glowedto hear Damian use the word 'brother' like that.
"When my own father wouldn't look me in the eye, when the rest of my supposed 'family' didn't know what to do with me, he was there! He was always there!"
Wally knew that the bond between Dick and Damian was strong, especially after Dick's tenure as Batman, and considering how easily Dick bonded with literally everyone, that was saying something. He knew the kid cared, truly, but Dick was so open and Damian, so reserved and prickly, it was hard to see that Dick's love was ever reciprocated.
It had never been so clear as it was now. And of course it was too late. Much too late.
And Damian knew it. Wally could practically feel the guilt and anguish pouring off the younger boy in waves.
"My father, Todd, Drake, Brown…not a single one of my teammates or mentors will look me in the eye and tell me the truth! I have been home a week, and they treat me like glass. They ask if Iam feeling alright, if they can get me anything, if there is anything they can do to help me. They offer to talk about what happened to me. But what about him? What about Grayson?"
Way to go right for the balls, Damian, Wally thought, his stomach rolling. Nausea and remorse threatened to seize his throat, and he suddenly felt as though he was suffocating.
"He was the first of us, Damian," Wally croaked, trying to find the right words to explain delicately. "The best of us. He inspired a whole generation of super-kids to come out of the woodworks and prove that we could do it just as well as the grown-ups could. Those he didn't train with,he trained himself. I don't think a single hero in the multiverse hasn't been touched by him. We are in mourning, and everyone—"
"I am perfectly aware of how many people Grayson has!" Damian hissed. "The fool would have every last man, woman, and child as his friend, if not for the sheer impossibility of the undertaking."
Wally huffed a laugh. It sounded more like a sob. "Yeah, that sounds like him."
"Then you understand this has nothing to do with the grief of our colleagues. I respect their distance and their methods of mourning. I do not begrudge Grayson the recognition and honor he deserves."
"Okay," Wally said, not knowing what else to say. He was starting to suspect what Damian was getting at, and it was hitting far too close to home for comfort. "Can you tell me what this is about, then?"
Damian sneered. "This is about what happened when I woke up, surrounded by family, and he was not there!"
"And what happened?" Wally asked.
"I had to assume, West! I had to assume Grayson was—"
Ah. Wally's chin trembled as he bit down on his lower lip. Hard. He took a stabilizing breath before finishing, "Dead."
Damian's inner fire faded, and he stared at Wally with tortured eyes. Now that the floodgates were open, there was no stopping Wally now, and he could have both kissed and decked Cassandra at that moment, for seeing what none of the rest could.
It wasn't only Damian who needed this.
Wally hadn't been there when the Crime Syndicate had gotten ahold of Dick. He hadn't been able to contact him when his identity was blown to the world. He hadn't done a single damn thing, and no matter how many times Artemis or his parents or his aunt or the Garricks sat him down to talk about how he was holding up, Wally couldn't shake the belief he could have done more to help.
Lately, the guilt was enough to keep him from so much as thinking Dick's name. He went out of his way to avoid reminders of him, of the teams they founded, of the original Robin, of Nightwing and the flock of birds who followed in his footsteps.
Problem was, nearly everything reminded Wally of Dick, of what had been and what could have been. His legacy and his memory was everywhere he looked, both in civvies and in uniform. It ached not to talk to him. It hurt just as much to consider talking abouthim.
But despite all of that, Wally could not deny the near-feral desire to share stories, to share memories of Dick's laughter and his love, with someone who understood that it was killing all of them notto do so.
Because that's what Dick was all about. For all the fights he had with Bruce, for all the miscommunication he'd been accused of, Dick loved easily and without restraint. Because of that, he was the most trusted, the most dependable, and the most well-liked of their community. He was the glue that held them together, the peace-keeper and median between those who'd butt heads, the one who people gravitated toward when they needed someone. He'd hate to see them like this, avoiding each other, angry and sad and unable to move on.
Funny, that it would be Damian Wayne, of all people, who would be the one who understood that best. Even funnier still that Damian was the one who would be able to provide exactly what Wally needed.
"But even knowing he's dead, it's like you keep expecting him to barge through the door," Wally continued, closing his eyes. "With that stupid ass grin on his face and that stupid ass skip in his step. I've called his cell a few times, you know? On accident. I had some dumb stories I just had to tell him, and it didn't hit me until after I got that dorky voicemail of his that he's…he's not gonna pick up."
Damian stood frozen, eyes wide, but Wally couldn't care less if Damian was paying attention or staring straight through him as he babbled. He babbled on. "And you can't help but think 'if I can come back, why can't he? If I'm good enough to be saved, then certainly he is too, right? Because no one deserves a second chance more than he does.'"
Damian didn't speak for awhile, absorbing Wally's confession. "I had forgotten you were lost to us for a time," he eventually murmured.
It was probably as close to an apology as Wally would ever get. Wally shrugged, accepting the olive branch. "You were still with your mother when I was trapped in the Speed Force. It's old news. I don't expect you to remember. I hardly remember it."
"And you still…" Damian trailed off, looking frustrated and embarrassed.
Wally filled in the blanks. "Yeah. I still think it. Every day."
Damian nodded, and he looked as though some of the weight had been taken from his shoulders. "I do not recall my death either," he admitted, avoiding Wally's eyes by turning to look out his window. "It was as though I had awoken from a nap, everything changed."
"It hasn't really hit, then, has it?" Wally asked.
"No," Damian said. "I do not suppose it ever will."
There was a hint of bitterness underlying the statement, and Wally assumed it was a subtle complaint against his family, for being so stuck in their own heads they couldn't see that all Damian wanted was to know why.
"I can tell you about Dick," Wally found himself saying. "About what happened."
Damian's eyes shot to Wally, and he quickly backtracked. "I mean, I don't have all the details, and that's why I also say you need to pry it out of your father, but I…um, you know…I know enough. Enough to hold you over until you and Bruce can sit down and really talk about it." Damian continued to stare, his eyes narrowing almost suspiciously, and Wally added, "I can tell you some other stories, too. About Rob. My Robin, I mean. If you want. To kinda…balance out the doom-and-gloom stuff. Dick wouldn't find it too 'astrous' if I didn't throw in a good story too."
For a moment, Wally worried that Damian would deny him. Or scoff. Or make fun of him. Or go back to behaving like the brat he really was deep down.
"I believe…I would like that," Damian said simply.
Wally smiled, and releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, he said, "You know what? Maybe Dick did give you just the right amount of credit, little chirp." Damian scowled at the old nickname—one of his least favorites, considering it was Wally and not any of Batman's brood who had come up with it. Wally still found the pun genius, thank you very much—but considering Damian didn't growl at him, Wally would call that progress. "He'd be so proud of you, you know that, right?"
"Tt. Naturally," Damian said, and if his eyes were moist and he had to pretend he had an itch so that he could wipe his face…well, Wally wasn't there to see it.
He just did what he was best at. He began to talk.
~…~
"Why do we put up with men, Cass?" Artemis grumbled as she labored up the stairs.
Cassandra Cain shrugged and smirked, making no attempt to pretend she wasn't hovering protectively. Artemis would roll her eyes and tell Cass off, but since she was well into her third trimester, her center of gravity was way off. She would never admit she appreciated the extra help now that she could no longer see her feet over the swell of her belly.
"They stand us up on movie night and then force their very pregnant girlfriends to hunt them down," Artemis continued to complain, pitifully breathless. "And climb stairs. And not just any stairs, Cass. Wayne manor stairs."
Cass didn't point out that both Jason and Alfred had already offered to find her wayward boyfriend for her, only to be told 'fuck off' and 'no, thank you, I could use the exercise,' respectively. Artemis liked her for that. She was a good friend.
"Bitter enemy, stairs," Cass agreed with a nod.
Pulling up short (and totally not using it as an excuse to take a break), Artemis gave the younger girl a dark look. Cass was as deadpan as always, not a single hint of mockery in her expression. Considering who she had as brothers, Artemis would have expected some humor dancing in her dark eyes at the very least. And maybe there was. She wouldn't know. Cass was just as good at preventing others from reading her as she was at reading other people.
(So, yeah, maybe Artemis took it back: Cass was actually an awful friend).
"And men," Artemis added, beginning to climb again.
"Yes. And men."
It took them a year and a day, but finally Artemis and Cass made it upstairs. Artemis beelined for Tim's room—after Dick, Tim was Wally's favorite Bat—but Cass stopped her with a tap on the shoulder and a shake of her head. She looked delighted, her face alight. Taking a hold of Artemis's hand, she beamed and lead her in the other direction, coming to a stop before a slightly ajar door.
Damian's room? What the hell was going on here?
Artemis gave Cass an incredulous look, and Cass's smile grew. She put a single finger to her lips, and with the grace of a ballerina, she waltzed forward, gently pushing the door open and peeking her head in. After a few moments, she entered entirely, and Artemis was left gaping.
She'd gone in without even knocking. Artemis didn't take Damian's shit, but even she knew better than to invade Damian's privacy without announcing herself. Did Cass have a death wish?
It took a moment before Artemis realized there was no fight occurring within, and curiosity started to overcome her caution. She stepped as lightly as she could, moderated her breathing, and entered.
If she was caught, oh well. She'd make sure Cass got the brunt of the punishment.
(Not that there'd ever be much punishment for Cassandra. Damian always respected her and treated her well, compared to how he treated most others).
The first thing she noticed was the dagger sticking out of Damian's wall. The dagger was paired with a nice fist-sized hole, and Artemis wondered if it was a little strange to be relieved there was some evidence of violence. That, at least, could be expected.
Artemis was so busy canvassing the room she nearly bumped into Cass. The girl gestured for Artemis to stand next to her, and with a bright smile, she pointed.
The spear of light from the hallway fell upon two sleeping boys. One slept propped against his headboard, curled against a massive decorative pillow. The other sprawled in the armchair by the bed, his head thrown back, chin shiny with drool.
Artemis didn't know what happened here tonight, but she wasn't about to question it, not when she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Wally so relaxed in sleep. And Damian…had he always looked so young? So peaceful?
They were both so fucking adorable. Affection threatened to overwhelm her, and she bit her lip to keep herself from cooing out loud.
Judging by the way Cassandra's camera phone snuck out of her pocket, Artemis wasn't the only one who wanted to remember this. When Cass noticed Artemis's gaze, she whispered, "Good."
"Yeah," Artemis breathed. "Good." She took one last look at the boys, a soft smile on her face, and began to back out of the room. Cass took a few more pictures and followed, closing the door behind her.
"Guest room?" Cass asked once they were alone in the hallway.
Artemis took note of Cass's pleased expression and quirked a brow. "You knew this would happen."
"Not knew," Cass denied.
"Guessed, then."
"Blind. Could not see. I helped."
She was too modest: the full impact of what Cass had done for Wally—and for Damian, for that matter—was beginning to hit Artemis like a sledgehammer. "Thank you, Cass. Wally, he—I was starting to think…"
Cass shook her head, and with an impish grin, she shook her phone.
Artemis laughed. No thanks were necessary. The pictures, it would seem, were their own reward.
Cassandra trotted ahead, toward guest rooms in the opposite wing of the manor, and as Artemis passed Dick's old room, she swiped at her cheeks, felt a melancholy smile to steal across her lips, and allowed herself to think that maybe their Robin would have gotten a kick out of those pictures, too.