III

Wally West was twenty five and sleepless.

He was bone tired from patrol, but for the past week sleep had evaded him. That night Cold and the rest of the Rogues had kept him busy for three hours holding up a bank, leaving him battered and probably in need of a hospital, although all he did was go home and collapse on the couch. The bed was too far away in his large apartment in Central, and it was so much easier to just give up and face plant on the blue cushions.

Face smushed into the fabric, he realised it smelt of old pizza and he should probably clean this place properly soon. For the past four years it had been his place of residence but it still didn't feel like home. He rarely cleaned, and kept his belongings there to a bare minimum – somehow, he is still clinging on to the hope that things could all go back to the way they used to be.

But they couldn't.

Wally groaned, twisting onto his back and glaring at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. It wasn't anyone's fault that his life was derailed four years ago. For a year, he had lived in Blüdhaven with Dick, watching his friend go from strength to strength and grow as a hero as Nightwing became the city's saviour; in their free time around that, they were happy.

The excessive amount of video games they had played and junk food they had eaten in that year was an indicator of what a great time they'd had. . . . And there was the other stuff, too. The first time they had kissed, and the ten months they had been together, when Wally would wake to lips on his neck and the feeling that he wasn't alone.

Everything had changed when Barry died. When he was murdered. The day Wally had lost his family and his life had changed forever. But there was no killer for Wally to catch when he returned to Central, Dick at his side and broken up. Anti-Monitor was dead. The League all came for the funeral and called Barry Allen a hero, commending him for giving his life to save not just their Earth, but every Earth.

The Flash died a hero. Barry died in a quieter way, mourned only by Aunt Iris and his nephew in the eyes of the citizens of the city, an unimportant man; someone who would be forgotten. That was the fact that killed the younger speedster. His Uncle was so much more than his mantle; Wally had idolised the Flash, but he loved Barry Allen even more.

He didn't know how to go on for the first week. Aunt Iris let him and Dick stay in the house, glad to see him again, but they were both too busy to fall apart for her to ever really comment on his and Dick's relationship, which they had kept quiet. All he remembered of that time was the weight in his chest, the feeling that he needed to run away quelled only by Dick's arms around him, anchoring him to reality.

Within a month, he was the Flash, because that was what was needed of him. His hometown needed a hero. The League needed a speedster. It was what everyone told him to do . . . no matter what it cost him.

He had stayed in Central City. Dick had gone back home.

At first, they tried to make it work. He ran across the country as often as he could to see his boyfriend, but Wally was getting used to being the Flash and busier than ever, and Nightwing was becoming as much of a symbol as Batman these days. Eventually, they had called it quits.

But it never stopped hurting. For most of his life, he had been in love with his best friend; to have that for real and then lose it almost broke him. Wally hadn't seen anyone else in the years since only getting older and lonelier. And now he couldn't sleep because he was worried about his ex.

So he was lying on his stomach, suit still clinging to him with sweat and blood when his phone rang. Wally bit back a scream as the vibrations of the phone rattled his broken ribs, fumbling to open it and shove it to his ear as quickly as possible, too woozy to even think straight.

"Mmmnnn?"

"Wally?" a quiet voice asked, familiar to the speedster but he couldn't quite place it in his state. He knew he should tell them to go away (or better yet, help him), but he was never the type to think of himself. "I know it's late, but I didn't know who else to call. I need your help."

For a moment, the redhead gathered his thoughts. He was tired but the words set him on edge, narrowing down who could be calling to a precious few. It clicked, "Tim?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Are you alright? Are you safe?"

He sounded concerned, and the much younger boy on the phone smiled a little. There was a time Wally was like a brother in law to all of them; Tim misses that. "I'm fine, Wally. But Dick, he's . . . everything is falling to pieces here and he's doing nothing."

Wally rubbed a hand over his eyes. "What you need to understand is that this isn't all on him, okay? Dick has no obligation to do anything but grieve right now."

"But-"

"Bruce is dead," he said, not unkindly, "Dick will never get over that. It's simple. They were a family for so long, and to lose that? I know how that feels. It will take time, if it ever goes away at all. You've got to give him the time he needs . . . I came and did what I could, but there's nothing else I can do."

"You could try again," Tim begged. He was in his bedroom, holding his cell phone desperately to his ear, afraid of being heard. Alfred was downstairs in the kitchen, Damian was storming around in his own room, and Dick had been in the batcave staring at the walls all day. Something had to be done. "Please, he'll listen to you!"

"Timmy, I tried. But he's allowed to hurt; it's only been three weeks."

"Gotham has gone to hell in that time," the current Robin revealed, an edge to his voice. "The criminals think Batman's dead and are celebrating with violence. There's no one to stop it anymore – it's chaos. Plus, there are imitations already. People are dying trying to be Batman, in his name – B-bruce wouldn't want that."

The boy's voice caught on his surrogate father's name. It was clear, even from just listening to them, that the entire family was still reeling from the loss of their father. Tim sounded about as tired as Wally, who wondered if any of them had slept recently.

"There's one Batman who's not like the rest. He knows too much, even reminds me of Bruce a little – but a lot more violent." Tim's voice took a turn, shaking a little, "it's Jason. We all know it is. You knew him, too, didn't you?"

"I did."

"He needs help, Wally. Just as much as the rest of us, Jason needs help; he always has, even if he hates our guts. Dick is the only one who can stop him and he just . . . He has to get better. We all need him to."

"You're a good kid, Tim," the speedster said fondly. Bruce picked all of his kids well. "I know you just want to help, but I don't know what to do, either."

"You know Dick better than anyone!" the boy shouted, "hell, you knew Bruce longer than I did! We need family here, Wally. That's you. I know you can help, just please . . . come."

A pang of guilt hit Wally, his fist clenching at his side. Perhaps he could do more . . .

Wally sat up. He made only a small grunt of pain for doing so, his injuries already healing physically (the mental ones he wasn't even going to go near) but they would be crooked if he didn't sort them out soon. Of all nights, he'd picked the worst one to get his ass kicked.

"Ugh," he moaned aloud. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost 2am. "Okay, but it's late. There's not much I can do now and I'm beat, man. Cold kicked ten types of crap out of me tonight."

"But Dick's just gone to bed," Tim said, "I heard him. If you wanted to come now and have a look around on your own while you think of a plan, I'm sure Alfred could patch you up."

"Damn it," Wally cursed. "Fine, but I'm taking the Zeta tube. I don't even think I could run right now."

"I'll go downstairs and set our systems to let you in," the Robin said. The relief in his voice was clear. "Thank you. Really, I understand it isn't easy, so thanks."

"Anything for family."

The Zeta tube hummed, and that brought back a lot of memories for Wally, triggered even more when he stepped out of the tube to see the batcave opening out before him, still as impossibly huge as the first time he had seen it. That place never lost its wonder.

Neither did its inhabitants.

"Wally!"

He looked up to see Tim waiting, leaning against a table littered with blueprints and prototypes for equipment Bruce would never see finished, but the teenager looked up and grinned as Wally walked into the cave. Tim was seventeen and still smarter than all of them, but he was looking a little worse for wear, hair a bird's nest on his head and eyes red.

"Hey, kiddo," the speedster replied, ambling over and pulling the Robin into a tight hug. At that moment, he was actually using Tim for support, leaning too heavily on the boy to compensate for the weakness in his knees. "It's been a while."

"Idiot," Tim laughed along, allowing the contact. With Dick being so detached from them all, there was no one left to comfort them physically around, and he secretly needed that hug more than he would ever let on. "You came as soon as you heard and stayed for days. That was only two weeks ago."

"But I missed you."

The words were said so earnestly Tim had no option but to grumble back, "you too. Now let's get you looked at: are you hugging me or using me as a crutch?"

"Um, both?" Wally admitted, looking a little abashed, but Tim just laughed anyway. He turned to sling the man's arm over his shoulders and walked them both slowly up to the infirmary, entering just as Alfred appeared.

"Master West," the elderly butler greeted, the twinkle in his eye only slight diminished. "Still getting into trouble, I see."

Wally eased himself onto the beg, sitting with his legs over the edge, flashing a self-depricating smile in their direction, "Only when I have good friends to patch me up."

"We'll see about that."

Alfred took a look at the speedsters injuries, helped by Tim, who was trying to learn from the older man just as much as he learned from Batman. Together, they set Wally's broken ribs without too much trouble, but looked concerned by the deep purple bruises already marking his torse.

"Those look sore," Tim winced, "you should have told me you were hurt, I never would have made you come if I'd have known. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, Timmy. It was my choice to come, and once I'd decided I was coming, nothing coulda stopped me."

"Then you should take better care of youself, Wallace," Alfred frowned. "You're not indestructible."

"You needed me," Wally said plainly, "where else would I be?" At his words, both Tim and Alfred looked touched, averting their eyes, so he huffed out a long breath. "Jeez, they'll be gone in an hour! I heal fast, remember? And don't go getting all sad on me, I need you to keep hoping."

The Butler looked up to give him a small, grateful nod. "I'll get you some food, Master Wally. You need to keep your strength up."

Alfred sounded close to tears as he walked away, footsteps echoing loudly to the ceiling high above them. Wally watched him go sadly. Bruce was like a father to Dick and Tim – but he was a son to Alfred. They all really needed something to hold them together again.

Robin looked slowly over to Wally. He walked over solemnly, extending a hand. "Okay," Tim nodded, helping the older man to his feet. "Now what do we do?"

"I'll still thinking on that one."

Wally and Tim stood in front of the big computer in the batcave, the elder's eyes flowing across the hundreds of pictures tacked or tucked around it with a nostalgic smile. It had started many, many years ago with a picture or two being left there by Alfred to remind his younger charges that there was a light in the darkness, but the space was filled with family memories quickly.

Although it was mostly Bruce and his boys, or Barbara or Cass or Steph, Wally's red hair could be seen noticeably in a lot of the pictures, a member of the family a lot longer than most, even if they hadn't even realised it at first.

"I remember that like it was yesterday," he laughed suddenly, pulling a picture free from the wall. It was at least ten years old, the picture dimmed with age and yellowed, almost buried under newer pictures. He grinned like a madman at seeing it, turning to Tim brightly, "What do you think? Do I make a good Robin?"

Tim looked at the picture to see Wally and Dick when they were much younger – dressed as each other. It was absurd, and a splutter of laughter rose up from his chest before he could stop it, clapping his hand to his mouth a moment later. He hadn't really laughed since Bruce had died.

"Wow," he giggled, taking a closer look at the picture, "it's so odd to see you like that."

"Dick said the same thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Wally smiled wryly this time, "said he could never imagine anyone else as Robin. Look how that went."

Tim huffed. "Harsh, dude."

"You know what I mean," Wally rolled his eyes. "Dick wouldn't have it any other way now. That was the important thing about Robin – it was a legacy, and he got a family from it. You're his brother."

The younger boy's ears went pink with pride, so he refocused them back to the picture, "I can't believe Bruce let you get away with that."

"You should have seen his face when we walked in dressed like that," the speedster chuckled, "Uncle Barry got the security footage from here afterwards and showed it to the entire League – I thought Batman was gonna kill him!"

Wally laughter became pained for a minute, prompting Tim to ask, "Does it ever stop hurting?"

The other man waited long enough that Tim didn't think he was going to get an answer, the air between them becoming charged with a heavy sense of emotion kept in check for too long. But as he was about to speak again, the speedster unsurprisingly beat him to it.

"No, it doesn't. But it gets better."

"Oh."

"You've just got to remember the best," Wally said slowly, which was unthinkable for him. It gave the words more weight. "When I think of my Uncle, I could be sad, but why would I do that when I could just remember all the good times instead? I remember his laugh most of all. Because that's what he'd want me to do."

Tim nodded in understanding, but couldn't help but ask, "What do you think Bruce would want us to remember about him?"

"That he loved you," Wally replied easily. "And his strength, I guess. All he ever wanted was to make this city better, and his legacy to you is that passion to help others. Even when it hurt him, he stuck to his morals – that is true strength, never mind the fact that when we were kids he used to benchpress me and Dick to impress us."

For the second time, Tim laughed, his sides aching a little by the time they were both finished, staring at the wall of old friends. "I used to love it when you told us stories about the old Team and League, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'll tell you some more, sometime," Wally promised. "I mean that. I know I've promised to be around more and failed, but it's time life went our way for once, don't you think?"

Tim nodded, "definitely."

Behind them, a loud groan sounded. It belonged to the small child who stomped in and headed straight to the training area, face set into a grumpy line as he grumbled under his breath. The boy pushed past Wally and Tim without a greeting, making Robin roll his eyes at the younger boy's antics. Of all of their siblings, Tim and Damian did not get along. Every time he saw him, Wally thought the child looked more and more like his father.

He nudged him and motioned his head, the two of them following Damian further into the cave. The redhead stopped and greeted cheerily, "Hey, lil D!"

The ten year old scowled, "Don't call me that."

"Sorry, little birdies get nicknames," Wally shrugged, "it's a rule."

"You're not my brother, West. Don't act like it." For a moment, the speedster allowed a small, disappointed look to cross his face. It was a well known fact that Damian was hostile to just about everyone, but Wally had really hoped the youngest child would have accepted him by now. After all, he had a good friendship with all the rest of Bruce's kids. It didn't mean he would stop trying, but it hurt every time. Damian went on, "what are you doing back here anyway? Grayson gets mopey every time you leave."

"He does?"

"He's very good at hiding it usually," the young boy said. "Not so much the last time you left. I assume you're here to snap him out of it?"

"Wally's always welcome here," Tim cut in loudly. He disliked Damian enough usually, but it had been even worse since Bruce died. "Our father let him stay here, and so will we."

"He wasn't your father, Drake. You were his pity case."

"At least he chose me!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you were kind of dropped on him," Tim said coolly. His tone was casual, but the words icy; he and Damian just knew how to press one another's buttons. "I might have been adopted, but you were made to be a weapon."

"Enough, both of you!" Wally shouted, stepping between the two arguing boys. He shook his head, fixing them both with the same disappointed look, lip sticking out as he bit it. "Bruce wouldn't want this. He left you a family, and neither of you have a lot of that-" The boys looked down, "so you've got to hold on to what you already have. That's each other."

"Sorry, Wally."

"I suppose you're right, West."

"Good," the speedster said proudly. He might be a terrible person, but he was a good brother (in his own opinion). "Go to bed and learn to keep yourselves in check. Bats and birds work better as a team; always."

"We don't have a Bat," Damian pointed out, "not anymore."

"Not yet."

"Grayson? You think he'll take over?"

Wally shrugged, "I'm going to talk to him. But I believe that if anyone is going to be Batman and carry the torch lit by Bruce, it will be him. He has the strength to do it - just not the faith to right now, which is why he needs us to believe in him, and try a little co-operation. Got it, squirts?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded. There was a small grin edging on his face, looking at something behind the speedster with a knowing look. He nudged his brother. "C'mon Dami. Let's go see if Alfred needs any help."

"But-"

"Damian," Tim made eye contact and nodded subtly to the thing behind Wally. "We need to go."

"What? – Oh," Damian caught the sight and nodded, already scurrying away, "I'll guess I'll see you in the morning, West."

"Night, Wally! Good luck!"

They passed the speedster almost faster than he could watch, running away up the stair to the house, clearly eager to be gone. Wally, who had been watching the exchange torn with pride and confusion finally fell to the second emotion, blinking, "good what?"

He spun around and saw why they were leaving immediately. Face blanching; Wally used his superspeed to try and tame his hair, running his hands through it. Instantly he stood a little straighter, feeling awkward, like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

Paused at the bottom of the staircase, Dick Grayson looked amused. (Well, his face looked amused, but Wally noticed he was looking terrible aside from that). Dick obviously hadn't been eating right, thinner than usual, painfully so; his hair was longer and shaggy, his face hollow.

"You managed to get the two of them to agree on something," Dick said, his voice almost sounding joking again, "Perhaps miracles do happen."

"Dick!" Wally flushed, trying to move but finding his mind blank on how to act like a normal human being. He stepped forwards then back again, lifting his hand to shake Dick's before realising how cold that would appear, instead turning it into a lame wave before letting it drop to his side. " . . . Hi?"

Like usual, Nightwing was straight to the point. "Tim called you, didn't he?"

"He's worried."

"About Gotham, I know."

"About you!" Wally protested. He walked forwards more confidently now, stopping close to Dick and reaching out a hand, finding the shoulder beneath his finger's much bonier than he remembered. "We all are."

"I'm fine," Dick shook his head, trying to move away. It was a weak effort; in fact he stepped closer to Wally, whose hand trailed down his shoulder to take his hand at the movement. "You don't have to worry about me, Walls. We're not kids anymore."

"I always worry about you. That's what love is."

"Idiot," Dick muttered, still looking at his feet, "where did you read that, a fortune cookie?"

"Nope," Wally laughed, leaning forwards until their foreheads touched, although Dick kept his gaze averted. "That's my own brand pearl of wisdom."

"You're not wise."

"But you own actual pearls upstairs," the speedster chuckled, "we make quite a team, in my book." He tugged gently on the hand now laced in his, "look at me, Dick."

A pair of blue eyes met green ones. (Wally had loved Dick's eyes from the first time he saw them. He didn't believe it was possible to have eyes so blue before that, but Dick's held universes in them). Dick breathed out. Wally breathed in. They stayed that way for a minute.

"I know it's hard, okay? But don't shut me out," Wally said quietly, closing his eyes. His head rocked on Dick's as he spoke, choosing the words carefully as he tried to calm them both, having forgotten how good it felt to be close to Dick. "I know you're hurting. We all are. But I still believe in you, and in what you can be."

"I c-can't be Batman. I know that's what everyone expects of me, but I can't."

"I disagree. I think you're the only person who can be Batman – it's your right. Of everyone, you were the son Bruce was most proud of; you took what he taught you and grew with it, became better, even better than him. It's you, Dick. You're the one."

"I'm not you," Dick said, finally stepping away. He lost contact, moving backwards until his back hit the cave wall. "It was easy for you to become the Flash because you and Barry were so close, you were almost the same person! I'm not like Bruce."

"You're more like him than you think."

"Don't," Dick started to walk away, crossing to the section where Bruce kept his trophies. Various objects and costumes lined the shelves, including his original Robin costume. That was where Wally caught up to him.

"Take a look at that," the speedster grabbed his retreating friend's hand and pulled them to a stop in front of the display. Attempting to lighten the mood, he joked, "Those shorts are the stuff of dreams, hot pants."

"Shut up," Dick complained, but he blushed a little. He stopped obediently, eyes passing over the costume fondly. "Those things were terrible. I nearly froze to death every time I had to do a stake-out in them."

"Right, 'cause your skin tight suit now is so much warmer."

"It is . . . a little. You can hardly talk."

Wally scoffed, pulling them along a little more. The hand in his own was warm, and he squeezed it every so often, "I can vibrate my molecules to stay warm. Like this."

He buzzed his hand until Dick laughed; the heat generated enough to keep them cosy. They were both in civvies, which was odd for them, and Wally felt exposed without his cowl, completely himself with no barriers. He had never had to hide in front of Dick, though, so he just held on tighter for security.

They wandered down the wall of trophies, pausing at Jason's suit, as they always did. Dick brushed two fingers to it. When Jason died and Bruce put it up, Nightwing had been furious. Over time, he chose to see it as a sign of respect, and the tiny gesture every time he passed proved that.

"He's going to hurt himself, you know," Wally said softly. If anything was going to convince Dick to take up the cowl, it would be family. "I know you still care about him, no matter what Jay's done. He's trying to be Batman, but he isn't capable of it. It doesn't suit him."

Dick said nothing, but chewed his lip thoughtfully. The fact he was listening at all was a victory, so Wally pulled them further down the wall display, commenting on things as they passed. His voice was light, Dick laughing without realizing it as they made their way closer to it.

The Batman suit. Bruce's suit.

Before he had time to process it, they were standing before it. Even with Bruce gone, the suit seemed to carry a part of him, filling the room with a presense which reached out to him. Dick gulped. Beside him, Wally was staring at him intently, trying to gage a reaction, but Dick's jaw only tightened. He was like his mentor that way.

"The thing about Batman and Robin is that it's a legacy," Wally said, recalling his words from earlier. Dick's eyes never left the suit, and Wally's never left him. "You passed on Robin to Jason and then Tim, and it made them better, didn't it? It made you a family."

"Y-yeah."

"Batman is a legacy too, a mantle to be passed down. There can never be a Gotham without a Batman, not anymore, the city would fall. It needs Batman, Dick; it needs you."

"But what if I'm not enough?" Dick finally asked. His eyes were still on the symbol in front of him, although they swam with water. The figure beside him moved closer, putting an arm crookedly around his neck and pressing warm lips to his temple. "I can't be like Bruce, I d-don't want to be. This place, Batman – it killed him."

"You are enough," Wally said simply, very close to his ear. "And I said you were like Bruce, not that you were him. You have his heart and his passion – but I loved you for you, Dick. Your optimism and light and your amazing butt is what sets you apart."

Dick laughed weakly, the chuckle wet with emotion. The picture was still in Wally's hand, crumpled, but he gave it to Dick now. The younger man looked at it and then tore his eyes up to Wally, looking at him like he was the sun.

"I . . . where did you get this from?"

"Downstairs. He kept it, all these years."

"I didn't think Bruce was that sentimental."

Dick sounded disheartened again. The relationship between him and Bruce had gotten better over the past five years, from the wreck it was when he first became Nightwing, and he really missed his surrogate father. So much it burned. But he didn't think that emotion had run both ways; to Dick, it felt as if there had been an abyss between him and Bruce for years now.

Wally sighed, knowing it was time to move forward, not back. He pointed to the picture, stepping away for a moment. "I want you to be Batman, not Bruce. Your own Batman. Do you remember that picture?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you know what to do," Wally said, tilting his head to the side.

"I don't," Dick shook his head helplessly, "I'm not sure. It's too much."

Wally wrapped his hand around Dick's, lifting the picture until it was held in front of the Batman suit. In the picture, he was the one dressed up as something other than himself, but who he was still shone through in his red hair and the way he looked at his best friend like he could make the starts shine. It was easy. The next thing he said was simple.

"Your turn."

THE END.

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