Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wally was worried for his boyfriend.

Really worried, actually.

Nightwing has stopped showing up to Titans meeting, didn’t join missions, turned his communication device off, wasn’t returning Wally’s calls or texts, and if it wasn’t for the rare Nightwing sightings still happening, he would be presumed dead by the League. But as the only person that knew who Nightwing was under the mask, Wally was the only one that noticed (or cared about) Dick Grayson’s disappearing off the map. He means, they guy was still paying his bills, but, according to the gossip columns of Bludhaven’s newspapers, he stopped showing up at Brucie Wayne’s galas, never showed his face in public, quit his job, and ignored all the (frankly disgusting) reporters that were following him after Jason’s death.

That was why Wally was standing in the hallway of an old apartment building in Blud, in front of apartment 3A, armed with a bag of Dick’s favorite takeout and the worry of a man who hasn’t seen his boyfriend in almost a month.

That worry was only growing as he reached the 15 minute mark of standing in front of the closed door, knocking and calling Dick’s name without answer. And it wasn’t like Dick wasn’t home- Wally could see the lights on and hear movement, so Dick was choosing to ignore him.

“Dick!” Wally tried one more time before remembering he had a key to Dick’s apartment, one he got years ago, when his boyfriend only just moved in.

He fumbled to stick the key in, and when he opened the door, he just... stared.

Dick Grayson, the poster sidekick-turned-hero, the golden child, the ray of sunshine, Wally’s boyfriend, was sitting on his couch, eyes glazed over, staring at a spec of dust in front of him, wearing a dirty t-shirt and dirtier sweatpants, his hair was overgrown and greasy, he smelled awful, the dark circles under his eyes looked way deeper than usual, he looked skinnier, not to mention his living space looked like shit, clothes thrown everywhere, sink overflown with dirty dishes, every surface covered with trash, and the floor was barely even visible.

“Dick?” Wally closed the door behind him as he stepped over trash to get closer to the vigilante. “What... happened?”

Dick ignored him, keeping his eyes on the floor. His hands twitched from where they were placed on his lap, and the speedster noted how his wrists were wrapped up as he made his way to the couch.

“Dick, what’s wrong?” Wally placed the bag in his hand down on the coffee table, on top of a stack of dirty plates. He kneeled down in front of Dick, looking for something in his face that would indicate why he was in such a state. “Dick. Look at me.”

He did, but the action seemed to make it worse, bringing tears to his already red and puffy eyes. He wiped them off with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. When he looked back at Wally, the same thing happened, and he just buried his face in his hands, silently shaking.

“Hey. Hey hey hey, baby, it’s okay.” Wally reassured him. His hands were stuck mid air, not sure if touching would make it better or worse. “Everything’s fine, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

After a few long moments of Dick breathing heavily, he lifted his head, wiping his eyes again. He wasn’t looking at Wally anymore, keeping his gaze on his hands instead.

“You didn’t have to use the door.” He finally said, quietly. His voice was rasp, from underuse, if Wally had to guess, and airy, like he wasn’t really in the moment, but somewhere elsewhere.

“I... what do you mean by that?” Wally asked, still searching for any signs in Dick’s face, but, unfortunately, his boyfriend always had a perfect poker face.

“No, I-” Dick suddenly turned his head to the side, talking to seemingly nobody. He cut himself off, hitting himself on the forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dick, talk to me, please.” Wally begged. Nothing was making sense, and the way the vigilante was acting was too worrying to ignore. “I want to help you, but I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Dick rubbed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening his mouth again. 

“They’re not real.” He mumbled, quiet enough that Wally figured he was talking to himself. “Bruce is in Gotham. He will... he’ll let me know before he visits. Jason’s dead. The... The Joker murdered him. Wally broke up with me. He won’t... won’t want to see my face. They’re not real.”

Wally stared as Dick repeated the statement like a mantra. Did he think Wally broke up with him? Was he seeing Jason? Was he hallucinating? Was he drugged? Was it fear toxin? Should he call Batman? 

“Dick.” Wally tried to cut him off, but the vigilante kept going, reaping the same sentences again and again. “Dick. Dick, look at me.”

“He’s not real, he’s not real, he- he’s not real-” Dick shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes, clutching his hair.

Wally wanted to scream. How was he supposed to convince his boyfriend he was real without touching him (because it looked like if anyone touched him, he'd start spiralling even more than how he was now)?? 

“Honey, please-” He pleaded, but cut himself off as Dick shot his head back up, looking right at him.

“Wally doesn’t call me honey.” His voice was flat, and his eyes looked empty, and he looked sick.

“Well, I am now.” Wally declared, standing up and motioning for Dick to do the same. “I may not know what’s going on, but I do know that I never- and will never- broke up with you. I love you, Dick Grayson, and I loved you ever since we were twelve and you showed me your face for the first time, then got so nervous you smoke bombed away and didn’t talk to me for a week. You’re genuinely one of the best people I know, you’re strong, you’re talented, you’re perfect. I don’t know who or what made you think that I’d be stupid enough to throw that- to throw you- away, but let me tell you, I might not be a child genius like you, but I am not that dumb.”

Dick stared at him for a long moment. He did stand up when Wally asked him to, so that was a good sign, right? 

They were standing so close, as close as possible without touching each other, since Wally still wasn’t sure if that would go well. He’d never seen his boyfriend in a state even close to this, but he knew that, on the rare occasions where he actually talked about his emotions, Dick rotated between ‘can’t handle anyone touching him’ to ‘will hold on and not let go for eight hours’, so it was usually best to let him be the one to initiate touch.

Something flashed in the vigilante’s eyes for a second, something vaguely resembling hope, before it was gone, and he was rubbing his eyes again, looking away.

“Snap out of it, Grayson.” He mumbled as he started walking away again, Wally following closely behind. “You’re pathetic.”

The speedster opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Dick turned and walked into the hallway, his pace quickening noticeably, as if he’s trying to outrun him.

Running into the bathroom, he threw the cabinet door open, frantically throwing stuff around, looking for something. Wally walked into the small room, his brows furrowed as he was trying to understand what was Dick doing.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for; a small white pill bottle, with the label scratched off. He frantically fumbled to open it, his hands shaking. Wally didn’t know if he should stop him. Were those drugs? Was that prescription medicine? Was it healthy for him?

Before he could voice any of those concerns, Dick managed to open the bottle, throwing the lid into the sink and tilting the bottle into his hand, clearly expecting something to fall out, but nothing did.

“Shit shit shit!” Dick threw the bottle at the wall, planting his elbows on the edge of the sink and burying his face in his hands, still shaking. “Fuck!”

Wally dared to take a step closer, not wanting for Dick to feel as if he was trapping him. “Dick, baby, what was that? Do you take anything?”

Dick was still shaking, his skin glistening with sweat as his legs wobbled, threatening to give up under him. He still wasn’t answering, and Wally needed answers.

“Is it prescribed? Do you want me to run and grab it for you? Is it life-threatening?” He pressed, taking a step closer as the curious half of his brain’s screams overcame the rational half’s. “Dick-”

“Would you all just shut up?!” Dick lifted his face to slam his hands down, his eyes still squeezed shut. Less than a second later, his eyes flew open, the panic on his face the first clear emotion he showed the entire evening. He turned around, staring at the wall but not really as tears started streaming down his face, and he pushed himself off the sink, starting to run towards the empty space.

“No- no no no, Jay- ‘m sorry, don’t-” He choked out before Wally wrapped his arms around the shorter man’s torso in order to prevent him from slamming into the wall.

Dick’s legs gave up as he started to truly cry, ugly sobs tearing their way from his throat. Wally lowered them to the floor, his hands still around the vigilante’s torso as he turned around to face him, hugging him back and burying his face in the other’s chest, wetting his shirt with tears, not that Wally cared at the moment.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” Wally whispered as he smoothed a hand over his boyfriend’s hair. “You’re safe.”

Dick sobbed, gripping onto the fabric of the speedster’s shirt like he might disappear if he lets go. Wally hugged him tighter, having the exact same fears.

They stayed like that for a while, until the tears ran out, until the sobs stopped coming, until there was no energy left. Dick was still shaking, his face was still buried in the wet patch of Wally’s shirt, but the sobs were reduced to sniffs, and that was enough.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, his voice hoarse. He tilted his head to the side. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Wally pulled him closer, his voice stern, yet still soft. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? We don’t have to talk today if you don’t want to.”

Dick nodded, his movements jerky, so unlike his usual self it was like a slap to the face. “Yeah- yeah, okay.”

Wally stood up, helping Dick do the same. He helped him strip, set the shower temperature, then stripped himself and stepped in with Dick. He washed the vigilante’s hair, scrubbed down the filth from his body, everywhere except the wrists, which were still covered (he thinks he’s starting to understand why). When they were done, he helped Dick dry up, ran to his apartment to grab some clean clothes (because Dick had none), helped him dress, ran to his apartment again to grab some clean sheets, made Dick’s bed, and got in with him.

“Hey,” he whispered to the top of Dick’s head, pulling him close. “You know I love you, right?”

Dick tilted his head up a bit, looking at the corner of the room where the shadowy figure of Batman was looming, radiating disappointment, next to him a little boy with a broken body and bloodied clothes, staring at him with dead eyes.

He’s lying, you know that, right? Nobody can love you. You’re too unstable, too weak, too unloveable. You’ll never be good enough, never be talented enough, never be strong enough. You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and he’ll be gone, left like everybody else who ever made the mistake of loving you. 

You’re alone, Dick Grayson, and that’s more than you ever deserved.

“I love you too, Wally.”