Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At twenty-three, Dick Grayson had been fairly certain puberty had long since packed up and left. Realistically, he’d known that for a while, but some small, stubborn part of him had clung to the ever-dwindling hope that he was just a late bloomer. A really late bloomer, considering most people developed their soul markings in their mid-teens, and almost always before puberty ended.

His voice had changed. He’d filled out, gotten taller, hairier, hornier, moodier. His body had done all the things it was supposed to, and when it was finished, the only things left permanently etched into his skin were scars.

So, all things considered, Dick was very much not expecting to wake up one random summer morning, closer to twenty-four than twenty-three, with a vibrant burst of color sprawled across the skin above his heart.

His first reaction was stunned elation.

He had a soulmate.

Growing up, he’d dreamed of the moment his mark would appear. His parents had been soulmates. He’d wanted nothing more than to find his other half and have a love like theirs. It hadn’t mattered to him that not everyone got one. His parents reminded him of that often, gently but firmly.

"Even without a soul bond," they’d said, "you can still find someone to love. You can still have a full and happy life."

At the time, he’d thought they were just trying to prepare him for disappointment. And besides, he’d known he had a soulmate out there somewhere. Statistics be damned.

But each passing year had chipped away at that certainty. Between school, patrols, the Team, and everything else that came with being a teenage vigilante, his obsession with soulmarks had faded. Not completely, but it had been easier not to think about.

Until Wally got his.

MOUNT JUSTICE

~Nine Years Ago~

That day, Kid Flash strolled into the Mountain as casually as ever. He made a beeline for the common area, ripped off his shirt with zero fanfare, and turned what most people considered a sacred event into something you’d see in a locker room.

M’gann gasped. Conner and Kaldurh studied the mark in quiet curiosity. Wally grinned and flexed his still-not-that-impressive biceps, soaking in the attention.

It was Artemis who ended the show.

She cleared her throat from across the room, and Wally’s ears turned bright pink. He turned at super speed, facing her with a sheepish expression and a barely contained smile.

"Something you wanna tell me, honey?" she asked, one brow raised.

Wally just grinned. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re the only girl for me. Besides, you haven’t gotten one yet. We could still match. And even if we don’t, you know I’ve never cared about any of this soulmate stuff. I’m not gonna let some—granted, very cool looking—skin art tell me who to love. I don’t need it. Because I love you, Artemis Crock. Cosmic lightning feather be damned.”

Dick had thought it was sweet. Dumb, but sweet. He figured they'd grow out of it eventually. They were still teenagers, and it was unlikely either of them would meet their soulmate anytime soon. The relationship would run its course, like most did.

Except it didn’t.

Years passed. Artemis never got a mark, and Wally never left.

Eventually, when she hit twenty and the chances looked slim, they had The Conversation. A lot of them, actually. They went back and forth for months before reaching an agreement: she’d stay with him, but only if he promised not to look or expose his mark while they were together.

Dick didn’t blame her. Not really. It was a risk, staying with someone who had a soulmate out there. There were no guarantees, and no easy answers.

But Dick knew Wally. Maybe even better than Artemis did. And he knew—really knew—that once Wally made up his mind about something, nothing could shake it. The same unyielding, reckless determination that led him to barbecue himself in a garage just to become a speedster applied to love too.

So when Wally proposed three months ago and Artemis accepted, Dick knew it was done. Over. Written in stone.

If Wally ever ran into his soulmate, he’d ignore the mark. Shut it down. Probably wouldn’t even hesitate.

And that, more than anything, made Dick furious.

It wasn’t Artemis who had wasted the gift. It was Wally. Wally, who condemned someone to heartbreak before they even had the chance to meet him. Wally, who chose not to care.

He’d made his choice.

All Dick could do was support it, mistake or not.

Dick shook his head, trying to clear the memories. But it was too late. The thought had already landed.

And it landed hard.

He jolted upright, blinking rapidly to shake off the last remnants of sleep. His limbs ached from sleeping twisted around his sheets, but he didn’t care. He had to look.

He pulled back the blanket and stared down at his chest.

The world shifted.

What he’d missed earlier, in the blur of waking, now stood out in sharp, undeniable detail.

A lightning-struck feather. Beautiful. Delicate. Iridescent in the morning light.

And utterly devastating.

The same mark Wally had revealed all those years ago.

Dick’s lungs seized. The pit in his stomach bottomed out. Slowly, as if moving too fast might shatter him, he raised a trembling hand to his chest.

His fingertips brushed the mark, and something inside him cracked.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It was grief. Fury. Longing.

All twisted together in one unbearable knot of truth.

The thing he had dreamed of since he was a kid—the soulmate he had wanted so badly—had always been just out of reach. He’d spent years learning to live without it. To accept that he would never have it.

And now it was here. Now, when it was too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his palm to the center of the mark as if he could erase it. His breath caught in his throat. He stayed that way for a long moment, frozen, until the tears started to fall.

He didn’t stop them.

Couldn’t.

Later, when he suited up for patrol, he pressed a thick, sterile bandage over his chest. Just in case. Soulmark exposure during a fight wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

But no matter how carefully he dressed, no matter how deep he buried it, one thought kept circling in his head.

Of course it was him.

Of course Wally was his soulmate.

He’d taken Dick’s heart years ago.

It only made sense that he’d take his soul too.

Chapter Text

If Dick thought he could get away with it, he would have skipped the cake tasting.

He’d promised Wally, more than once, that he would be there, and unfortunately some promises had weight. His best friend had made it perfectly clear: unless the world was ending or another sibling died, no excuses would be accepted.

Wally hadn’t even flinched when Dick had given him a withering glare for that particular comment. Tim’s snickering from the rafters hadn’t helped.

And so, Dick found himself standing in front of a wedding cake shop, bright and cheery against the Gotham street, wishing he were anywhere else.

His reluctance had little to do with the threat of Alfred’s disapproval, though being on the old butler’s bad side was never wise.

It was about Wally.

If Dick bailed, Wally would notice. He’d ask questions. He’d dig. And Dick couldn’t risk giving him a reason to suspect something was wrong.

After pulling himself together the other day, Dick had decided the truth was out of the question. Nothing good could come from telling Wally. It wouldn’t be easy, but silence was still better than the alternative.

He would have to cancel the beach day M’gann had planned for the original Team that weekend, though. That stung. He had been looking forward to it.

But really, what was one more thing denied in a life already overflowing with sacrifice? A day at the beach was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

One step at a time. Deep breaths. Grit teeth. This would not break him.

He’d gone this long without a soulmate. He didn’t need one now.

His selfish, boyish hope for some fairytale ending had been just that: a dream. Wally had worked for his happiness, and Dick would not destroy that for something neither of them truly needed. It was no one’s fault Wally had simply been better at living without it.

Dick exhaled slowly, forcing himself out of the spiral. Dwelling on the impossible did him no good. He didn’t have time to wallow.

He had a cake tasting to attend.

Steeling himself, he straightened his shoulders, summoned his best Bruce Wayne impression, and stepped off the wall.

With teeth clenched and nerves ironed flat, he pushed open the door to the shop.

The inside was warm and inviting, filled with the sugary smell of buttercream and fondant. Pastel ribbons decorated the displays, and a small army of miniature cakes sat ready for sampling.

Wally spotted him instantly and waved with all the enthusiasm of someone who had consumed too much caffeine.

“Finally! I was about to send out a search party.”

Dick forced a grin. “Please. I was five minutes late.”

“Six,” Wally corrected, glancing at his watch with exaggerated solemnity. “Inexcusable.”

Dick rolled his eyes and slid into the seat across from him. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Wally leaned back in his chair, smug. “I am lucky. And don’t you forget it.”

The shop owner approached with a tray, setting down an array of small slices decorated with delicate swirls.

“Our most popular flavors,” she said warmly. “Red velvet, vanilla bean, chocolate ganache, and lemon with raspberry filling. Take your time.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Wally said, already reaching. He forked up a bite of chocolate and hummed in satisfaction, eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, yeah. That’s the one.”

“You said that about the last two,” Dick pointed out, cutting a tiny, careful piece of the lemon cake.

“Because they were good!” Wally said through another mouthful. “You’ve gotta think of this from a speedster perspective. Wedding day, I’ll be burning like a million calories. I need something with staying power.”

Dick arched a brow. “It’s cake, Wally. Not fuel for the Watchtower generators.”

“Cake is fuel for the soul,” Wally countered, absolutely earnest.

The words made Dick’s chest tighten. He coughed into his hand, forcing the sudden sting in his throat back down, and reached for the vanilla slice.

Wally was oblivious, already moving on to the red velvet.

“Okay, serious question. Do you think Artemis is a red velvet person? She looks like a red velvet person, right?”

“She looks like someone who’d eat whatever makes you happy,” Dick said before he could stop himself.

Wally looked up at him then, grin softening into something warmer.

“Yeah. She does.”

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

Dick dropped his gaze to his plate, focusing on the frosting pattern as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room. His fork cut through the cake, steady and deliberate, the only thing keeping his hands from trembling.

This was what he wanted for Wally. Happiness. Certainty. A future.

Even if every bite tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Wally broke the moment, cheerful again as he nudged the tray toward him.

“Come on, man. Try the raspberry one. It’s got that fancy French filling. You’ll love it.”

Dick managed a smile, thin but passable, and reached for the fork.

Later, Wally nudged the last empty plate aside, satisfied.

“Okay, I think we’ve narrowed it down. Chocolate for the main, lemon raspberry for the smaller tiers. That way everyone wins.”

“Diplomatic as always,” Dick said, managing a smile.

“Hey, you don’t grow up around Barry without learning how to keep the peace. Plus, Artemis will pretend not to care, but I’m telling you, she’s gonna love that lemon cake.”

Dick nodded, though the words barely registered. His focus had narrowed to keeping his mask in place, keeping his breathing steady, keeping his hands from shaking on the table.

The shop owner returned with a clipboard. Wally launched into questions about designs, frosting types, and delivery dates, all in a blur of enthusiasm.

Dick let him carry the conversation, adding the occasional nod or hum of agreement. It was enough.

By the time they stepped outside, the sky was sliding toward dusk.

Wally stretched, arms overhead, and shot Dick a grin. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“Not bad,” Dick echoed. His throat felt tight.

“Thanks for coming, man. Seriously. You know it means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” Dick said, forcing his voice steady. He pulled Wally into a quick hug, brief but firm, then stepped back before he could betray himself. “But I’ve got to run. Patrol stuff.”

“Patrol never ends,” Wally teased, but let him go. “Tell the Bat I said hi.”

Dick gave a two-fingered salute and turned down the street, keeping his stride casual until he rounded the corner.

Only then did the breath tear out of him in a shudder.

He leaned against the brick wall of a closed shop, palms braced against rough stone, eyes squeezed shut. The taste of frosting still lingered on his tongue, sickly sweet, like the aftertaste of a lie.

He had smiled. He had joked. He had been the best man his best friend deserved.

And now, alone in the fading light, the weight of it all pressed down until his knees nearly buckled.

For a moment he let it, chest heaving, the bandage over his mark burning like a brand.

Then, with a rough exhale, he pushed off the wall.

One step at a time. Deep breaths. It would be fine.

He had survived worse.

He would survive this.

Chapter Text

Perfect notes. Let’s streamline this so it keeps the focus on the OG team dynamics, make the group chat section cleaner, and fix the ending so it respects canon logistics (no bus — Zeta tubes and separate home bases instead). Here’s the **revised Chapter Three**, AO3-ready for mobile readability, with Tim removed, the opening clarified, and the ending made consistent with Young Justice/DCU canon.

---

### Chapter Three: Cracks in the Foundation

Dick read the group chat twice before muting it.

**M’gann:** Beach day confirmed! Noon. I made sandwiches.

**Conner:** I will carry the umbrellas.

**Kaldur’:** And extra water.

**Zee:** And sunscreen.

**Wally:** DIBS ON VOLLEYBALL.

**Artemis:** Not if I call it first.

**M’gann:** Dick?

**Dick:** Sorry. Gotham thing. Rain check.

That was it. Short. Clean. No room for questions.

He set the phone down beside his escrima sticks and went back to the drills.

The cave’s training room hummed quietly around him. The rhythm of breath and movement was something he could control. Every pivot and strike measured to the centimeter. Sweat beaded under the bandage at his chest, but he pushed through until his muscles burned.

He cycled again. And again. Until his hands were steady and his thoughts quiet enough to pretend he wasn’t avoiding something.

By the time he stepped onto Gotham’s streets, the sun over Happy Harbor was already climbing toward noon. He could picture it if he let himself: water glittering against the sand, M’gann hovering just above her towel when she forgot to pretend, Artemis pretending not to take the volleyball game seriously until she inevitably spiked the ball straight into Wally’s chest.

He kept his eyes open.

It was easier to focus on Gotham. The city needed him in a way no beach ever would.

A pickpocket on 7th. A courier moving product who didn’t want to be asked questions. Two kids tagging a storefront with a mark they didn’t understand. Dick handled each of them quietly, firmly, without leaving bruises.

When his phone buzzed again, he let himself look.

**Wally:** Photos incoming.

The first was a blur of sand, sky, and too many bodies crammed on a single blanket. Wally leaned in at the foreground, grin wide and unbothered, Artemis at his side with a smile that was smaller but genuine. Kaldur’ raised a bottle like a toast. Zatanna had conjured sunglasses that were clearly unnecessary. Conner looked vaguely bewildered.

Dick’s mouth tugged upward before it could stop itself. It hurt more than he expected.

He typed and deleted twice, then settled for the safest reply.

A heart emoji.

A minute later, another ping.

**Wally:** Miss you, man.

Dick froze at the corner of a crosswalk, letting the city’s flow of people carry on around him.

He typed back.

**Dick:** Knock them dead in volleyball.

**Wally:** As if there was any doubt.

A stream of volleyball emojis followed, then another photo — Artemis spiking the ball directly into Wally’s chest while he made a face like betrayal itself.

Dick snorted. For a second, it almost felt easy.

But the warmth faded as fast as it came.

---

By evening, Gotham’s streets glowed in the golden light that pretended the city could ever be soft. He stopped on a rooftop overlooking Robinson Park and let himself stand still, the wind tugging at his shirt, the weight of the bandage hot against his skin.

The phone buzzed again.

**M’gann:** S’mores?

**Zee:** This is a beach, not a bonfire.

**Conner:** A small fire is acceptable.

**Wally:** Artemis is trying to weaponize the skewers.

**Artemis:** Too late.

Dick didn’t hit play on the video that followed, but he saw the frozen frame: Wally chasing Conner with a flaming marshmallow, Artemis doubled over with laughter in the background.

He turned the phone face down on the ledge beside him.

For hours, he kept to the rooftops. It was easier to move than to sit still. He told himself it was better this way. He knew how to do this.

It wasn’t until later, when he returned to his apartment and dropped his gear by the door, that he let himself look again.

**Wally:** Last one, promise. Wish you were here.

The picture was simple. A crooked selfie, Wally’s grin sun-warm and real, Artemis leaning in with a smear of chocolate at her lip, the ocean glittering behind them as if time itself had slowed.

Wish you were here.

Dick swallowed hard.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

**Dick:** Next time.

The words blurred on the screen. He locked the phone, set it down, and pressed both hands to his eyes.

And now, with Gotham’s silence pressing in around him, the weight of it all crushed down until his chest felt split in two.

The bandage burned like a brand.