II

Wally was nineteen and bored.

College was great, he guessed . . . people had got over the phase when they were bullying asscracks, he felt as if he was actually learning something new here, and it was freeing. He didn't have to spend his life on the run (pun intended).

It was great. Except for the fact it was skull-crushingly dull sometimes.

He missed being a hero.

Dick, he texted his best friend, lying on the bed of his small flat; it was tiny and a good walk away from campus, but it was starting to feel like home. He lived alone though, and told himself it didn't matter. It did. The sound of his own voice was beginning to annoy him. Diiiiiiiiick. I'm bored. Entertain meeee.

He allowed himself a small smile as he sent the messages, eyes drifting to the pictures on his wall. There were shots of him and his family, Barry and Iris grinning beside him at picnic's with the Garrick's and school events – and there were pictures with his friends; his team. Most of them were of him and Dick.

Wally sighed, lying back on his pillow and crossing his arms behind his head. The sound was low and miserable. It had been almost four months since he had seen his friend last. Too long.

When he didn't get a reply after twenty minutes, a frown crept over his lips, brows drawing together as he snatched up his phone again, rolling to his feet and starting to pace the room. Even at the times they hardly talked, when their relationship was strained by time and distance – Dick always texted back. Even if it was just a reply saying he was busy, he responded. They had both agreed on it years ago. With lives like theirs, things went wrong often, and worrying each other unnecessarily was out of the picture. They texted each other back . . . except when they couldn't. In that case, they went straight out to save one another.

So something was wrong.

He called Wayne Manor. The number wasn't even saved in his phone, but after all these years he knew the numbers naturally, his fingers flying across the phone to key them in even before he'd made the decision to call. Well . . . it was too late now.

"Wayne Manor. Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I be of assistance?"

Despite his worry, Wally felt a smile crease his lips as he leant against the wall, "Hey Alf. Long time, no see."

"Master West?"

"C'mon now, don't tell me you've forgot the sound of my voice," the speedster laughed weakly. For some reason, hearing the old butler's voice had hurt him, reminding him of a lot of things he missed. A lot of people. It really had been too long since he'd met up with his old friends. "Don't you hurt me like that. I could be over there in ten seconds to annoy you to remembering."

A chuckle rang back in his ears. "No, no . . . that's alright. You make quite a lasting impression, Master West."

"Glad to hear it. Listen, Dicky's not answering his phone, could you yell at him for me? He should know not to worry me like that by now."

There was a static pause. Wally waited a good minute for an answer, thinking time was just moving slowly for him again and it hadn't been that long at all. Then the silence dragged out, on and on, until he realized he wasn't getting one.

"Alf," he said slowly, "tell me what's going on. Right now."

"You mustn't get upset-"

"Damn right I'm getting upset!" Wally shouted down the phone, standing upright once more, every muscle rigid with fear. He'd lost too many people, and no answer from Alfred meant something had gone really, really wrong. "Where. Is. Dick?"

"He's . . . he's gone, sir. He left home three weeks ago and we haven't been able to find him."

Wally felt the world collapse. The first few breaths he took were deeply sucked in, forcing his lungs to inflate as he fell against the wall again, this time feeling it press against his back as he slid down it, crumbling to the floor. Then his breathing turned erratic – he panted heavily, his breaths too quick and not enough. As he cradled the phone, vaguely hearing Alfred trying to calm him on the other end, his fingers shaking so badly he had to wrap both hands around the device to keep it from slipping from his fingers.

Dick was gone. Not hurt, gone. Somehow that was worse. If he had been hurt, they could deal with it, and he would get better. If Dick had vanished and not even Batman knew where he was . . . that was unthinkable. It was so wrong there were no words.

Slowly, the voice drifted back as the ringing in Wally's ears dimmed to a roar of blood that was surging around him as his heart beat at super-speed.

"Master Wayne, he seems to be experiencing difficulties. You may need to go over there," Alfred said, obviously talking to Bruce on the other end of the phone. The voice became louder as he spoke into the receiver again. "Master West? . . . Wallace? Do you need us to send someone?"

"No," Wally managed to choke out, still frantic, "please . . . just explain. What happened?"

"I'm probably not the best person to explain that," the butler admitted. There was a note of shame in his voice, a pinched sound; he was just as worried as Wally.

The speedster suddenly realised the truth: Dick hadn't left, he had been driven away. He got back to his feet. In a low voice, he instructed. "Put Bruce on."

"Master West-"

"Do it."

There was shuffling and muffled voices, a fight Alfred apparently won, for Bruce's gruff and annoyed voice huffed down the phone a moment later: "What do you want?"

"Hmmnnn, I don't know-" Wally replied sarcastically, feeling the frustration of the situation well up as he slammed his palm against the wall, "to know what the hell you did this time to drive my friend away, maybe? Or where he is?!"

"We really don't know where he is," Bruce replied. This time, there was a hesitant worry to his tone, "I tried to track him, but . . . I trained him. If he doesn't want to be found, we never will."

"Did you even try?"

"Of course I did! He's my son."

Wally's voice went cold, "then what did you do to push him away? And don't even think of lying to me, Bruce. I've known you both too long for that."

Bruce paused. But it lasted only a moment, then he spoke in a quick, brisk voice. "Dick was spending too much time with the Team. I needed him in Gotham and he wasn't here, his objectivity was compromised. I had no choice."

"Bruce – what did you do?"

"I got a new Robin."

"You what?"

"His name is Jason, I'm training him to join me. Dick was . . . not too happy when he found out." Bruce sounded odd, like there was something stuck in his throat. "He left."

"I can't believe you did this," the speedster said slowly. He left Batman hanging for a while, trying to process it in his head. But it was so, so wrong. "This is ridiculous. You idiot, Bruce! The high-and-fucking-mighty Batman; a complete moron!"

"West-"

"No. Shut up, shut up, right now!" Wally shouted, pacing. On the other end, Bruce sounded furious at being spoke to in this way, but the speedster didn't care in the slightest. "Of course he's gone, you colossal asshat! You took the thing which means the most in the world to him. You took Robin away."

"It wasn't his," Bruce bit out, "this is my crusade. And he wasn't there enough."

"I told you to shut up."

"W-"

"And how could you say Robin wasn't his?!" Wally demanded angrily, feeling the venom in his own voice, so furious with what he was saying tiny spit droplets hit the phone as he ranted into it. "He is Robin! It was the name his mother called him, the name he chose to take – you can't give it to someone else. You can't."

Although he was worried about Dick too, Bruce wasn't going to put up with being verbally assaulted. He responded in a curt, bitter tone. "I have. And it's none of your business anymore – you walked away from all this, too."

"None of my business? He's my family! I thought he was yours, too," the speedster spat out. "Even if you've given up on Dick, I never will. That's a fucking promise!"

He hung up.

Wally knew it was a bad idea; a mistake, but he didn't care right then. Even if he got a call from an extremely pissed off Bat or a sanction from the League because of it, he wouldn't regret saying what he did. Because growing up, Wally had gotten along with Bruce quite well. When he and Rob hung out as civilians at Wayne Manor, he learnt the Big Bad Bat wasn't actually so scary, and thought of him as a sort-of Uncle for a time.

So he knew when to call him out on being an asshole. It could happen sometimes without Bruce realising it, the speedster settling arguments between Dick and Bruce many times; but never one this bad. Most people would be afraid to stand up to Batman, but not Wally. He just knew when to pick his battles. This was one of those times.

It was unnatural. It was so unbelievably, inconceivably absurd. Dick was Robin. Not some other kid Bruce had decided to train.

And Dick . . .

Wally could imagine what his best friend was feeling right now. What he was thinking. Over and over. That he wasn't good enough, and it was all over. Others would only be able to guess Rob's thoughts, but Wally knew exactly what Dick would be doing – and where he'd run to.

Wally got to the circus at midnight.

Haly's was just like he remembered it, the few times he had come with Dick when they were kids – the blue trailers still looked cheerful and welcoming, and the entire scene was overridden by the smell of hay. The show was long over, but there were still plenty of people bustling around, chatting and laughing.

If he was anywhere, this was where Dick Grayson would be.

After asking about, Wally found himself directed to a trailer a little away from the others, the only one with the door closed and a dim light on inside. That would be the one, then. Wally didn't even knock, just walked in before looking around the small trailer curiously.

There wasn't much stuff yet, but there was a blanket on a small bed and a lamp, alongside a few personal things Wally recognised. It was definitely the right place, but it was empty. Or at least he thought so until a voice spoke from behind him.

"You shouldn't be here."

Wally spun around as the shadow behind him moved, morphing into the figure of his best friend as he stepped into the low light. Dressed in torn jeans and a overlarge sweater, the man in front of him hadn't looked good, bright blue eyes marred by the dark circles beneath them and swaying, the smell of the alcohol hanging over him like a cloud.

"Dick," the speedster said, his voice shaking. He had half expected not to find his friend so easily, but his nerves quickly died down at seeing his friend (mostly) unhurt. This he could deal with. This he could fix, or try to. "I came to find you, I was worried."

The ex-Robin swayed dangerously again, stumbling past the red head to the bed which took up most of the trailer before falling onto it, not able to stand; he looked up through a mop of dark hair and looked genuinely confused.

"Why?"

Wally shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. There was just a hint of a smile on his face. "You didn't answer your phone."

The two of them sat on the creaky old bed. It had a rusting metal frame and the mattress groaned under the weight of the two teenagers, but it didn't matter. Sitting against the trailer wall with their legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Wally tried to think of something to say.

"So . . . how did you get the booze?"

Dick just turned to look at him even in the state he'd drank himself into, raising one eyebrow. He might have been hurting, but the corners of his mouth twitched up at his friend's usual lack of direction.

"Right," Wally nodded, "not the time."

"How did you find me?" Dick asked quickly. He sipped from the glass of tap water his friend had shoved in his hand, thoughts clearing pretty quickly. Years ago, Bruce had made him learn how to come around fast from injuries or drugs, so the same thing applied to alcohol. "Even Bruce hasn't been able to so far. Or maybe he doesn't even care."

"He does care," the speedster said, "Him and Alf were so worried when I spoke to them today. Even if he'd never admit it, this is killing him."

Dick scoffed, pushing the air from his lungs and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right. Bruce doesn't have emotions, remember?"

"Dude," Wally shook his head, "I know you're mad. You have every right to be. But if Bruce is emotionless, you cured him of that. You made him beter. He loves you."

"He replaced me!"

"I know."

"He told me to leave my costume. I'm not Robin anymore."

"C'mon," Wally nudged him with his shoulder, "You'll always be Rob."

"But I won't, though," Dick shook his head. As he leant forwards, tucking his feet in and hunching over them, the former boy wonder looked truly miserable. His dark hair hung over his eyes, grown out a lot in the months since Wally had last seen him, and the edges of his eyes strained as his they became glassy with tears. "I thought I'd do it forever. That one day . . . I thought I might be Batman. But what if he's right? What if I'm not good enough for Gotham?"

"Dick . . ."

"Even you stopped coming around, Wally. I'm not good enough for anyone."

The speedster froze. Open mouthed, he stared at the back of his friend's head as Dick remained hunched forwards, his back hitching with his breathing as steady, silent tears dripped down his face. Wally felt awful. It was true; he hadn't been around recently.

"I'm sorry," Dick said, voice muffled as his face rested on his knees. "It's not your fault. I'm just . . . I didn't mean it."

"You're right," Wally said. Tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it tightly when he wasn't shrugged off. "I've been busy and we haven't seen each other enough; that's on me."

"It's on both of us. I've been busy too."

"Whatever. The point is: I'm not leaving again."

Dick frowned, sitting back up against the wall and peering over at his red-headed friend curiously. He blinked a few times. "What do you mean, Walls? You can't stay here. You've got a life now, you can't just leave it – the circus doesn't suit you."

Wally chuckled a little, "hey, people always called me a clown. Maybe it's time I lived up to that."

Even Dick laughed, although the sound was raw. "I'm just passing through here, really, I don't even know . . . I don't really have a home anymore. But I've been thinking about it, and I can't just give it up – if I can't be Robin, I'll be something else. Find a new city and a new name."

"Funny you say that," Wally smirked, "because I was just thinking of getting back in the game. College is boring. Everything's so slow."

"You don't have to do that, not for me."

"Maybe I'm doing it for both of us. We could do with a new start."

Dick scratched the back of his head. "A new start with old friends. Imagine that."

"Sound good?"

"It's better than doing it alone."

Wally held out a closed fist, and Dick bumped his own against it, laughing. Only Wally could have made him laugh right then; make it all better. Three weeks ago, his life ended. Now, sitting there with his best friend, Dick could finally imagine a new one, a better one.

"I was thinking," the dark haired boy said, "how about going to Blüdhaven? It's just as bad as Gotham and there's no hero to protect it."

Wally grinned, "Plus being that close will piss Batman off."

"That, too."

"And who will you be?" the speedster asked gently, "Worked that one out yet?"

This time, it was Dick's turn to grin. He leant his head back against the trailer, the familiar smell and hour making his eyelids heavy as he lazily looked in his friend's direction.

"I spoke to Uncle Clark about it, the first day I left. He told me about an old Krytonian myth, a legend who inspired him to become a hero when he came to Earth; to help people. He gave me permission to use the same name," Dick revealed, finishing the sentence with a feeling of hope. "I'm gonna be Nightwing."

Dick awoke to a loud crash and the sound of someone rifling through his trailer, knocking things to the floor and cursing under their breath. He was slumped on the bed, half against the wall but with a blanket over his body like someone had tried to cover him; his head hurt, his back ached, and for the first time in three weeks he woke without panicking.

"Wally," he murmured, blinking sleepily awake and trying to stretch to see the redhead, "what on earth are you doing?"

The dark haired teen pushed himself up on one elbow and immediately burst into laughter at the sight that awaited him. His hand covered his eyes as he giggled with glee, peeking through it only to crack up again a minute later, collapsing back into the sheets.

Wally was wearing the costume he had been performing in for the past few nights, his dad's old blue suit which he had slowly been modifying to fit the hero business. Dick had sewn on holders for the escrima sticks he had decided to work with, expecting to create a better armoured material with the same design as soon as he settled somewhere, but for the early days, that was his new image.

On Wally, however, it was a sight.

The suit itself wasn't too different from the one the speedster used to wear as Kid Flash; seeing Wally in a skin-tight body suit wasn't an usual sight to Dick, who had seen Wally's abs many times but was impressed he had grown from a weedy kid to a surprisingly toned man - although the colours were all wrong. Wally was bright. He dressed in reds and yellows and looked so alive, not black and blue. It didn't suit him, clashing with the vivid redness of his hair and freckles, sticking out of the dark suit in a stark contrast.

Then there was the massive dip of the suit's collar, something Wally was also laughing at as he spun around in the Nightwing suit, trying to check out his ass in the mirror in the corner.

"Dude," the speedster said, strolling to stand in front of the room, face red with suppressed laughter. He looked awkward but smug, "we really need to work on your suit."

"That was my father's!"

"And it's fine for performing in the circus, but the villains will be too busy laughing at you to fight you if you wear it in the field!" Wally laughed, then raised an eyebrow, "actually, that might not be a bad thing. Dazzle them with your cleavage, bro."

Dick cackled, rolling back on the bed with his legs kicking out at the air with laughter, sides hurting by the time he and Wally were done. It was quite a while. But he ached in a good way, so it didn't matter in the end. They were going to Blüdhaven; he was not alone and they would be okay. Dick could finally believe it.

"I mean, really," Wally laughed for the last time, looking down at himself and shaking his head. He finally picked on his favourite aspect of the suit by far, grabbing the collar in both of his hands and doing an Elvis impression, revelling in the sound of Dick's laughter. "Who are you: Nightwing or Discowing?"