A/N: Hey guys, here's another oneshot. It's kinda different from my usual writing style and topic but I got hit by inspiration so now we have this. I hope you guys enjoy (not really the appropriate word in my opinion, but oh well :U) and feel free to comment, fave, etc.

Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice

Warning: contains 'implied sexual abuse'

It had happened five days ago.

A mission gone wrong ended with a berserk speedster and three men in the ICU. While no hero was a stranger to these kinds of incidences, for it to have happened so close to home had chilled his body to the bone and left a festering rage for the injustices of the world. Horror and fury made such a disturbingly well-mixed cocktail that he felt overwhelmed, drunk in the advent of his emotions.

He had heard it a mere three hours ago.

Getting back from a two week operation, he had expected relief to greet him. Instead, the welcome came in the form of missed calls and harried messages asking where he was and requesting his response ASAP. It was logical for Bruce to withhold the information until his return; otherwise, he would've been emotionally compromised while undercover in downtown Blüdhaven. Even then, a part of him, a big part of him criticized his absence. As illogical as it was, he should have known. Better yet, he should have been there.

He should have been there to provide comfort.

He should have been there to break those lowlifes further into oblivion.

He should have been there to stop it.

But no, he was only notified of the situation three damnable hours ago. In that timeframe he had managed to spend a few good minutes arguing with Batman. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Some time between yelling at his brooding ex-mentor, Bruce had coldly informed him that he was wasting his breath when he could've been elsewhere. As much as he hated to admit it, the frustratingly stubborn man was right. Still, he left with a chip on his shoulder and grumbled as he got on his N-cycle. Things between him and Batman weren't exactly copacetic, especially with the whole Nightwing issue.

It had taken him minutes to head on over. His N-cycle tore against the tarmac in what most would consider reckless speeding. He couldn't be bothered though. He had to get there as fast as possible. Every minute cost him a sliver of his composure with information flitting through his head.

A standard rescue had escalated into breaking down a human trafficking ring with dealings into forced prostitution. Lady Luck had gifted the uncle-nephew duo with a well-documented paper trail. In true speedster fashion, the two had quickly reviewed and analyzed the information. There was an exchange schedule and shipping manifest which then became the foundation for a plan, a good one at that. Things had gone swimmingly with bad guys caught and the hostages given necessary medical and psychological care. There was only one division left and the speedsters had gone in optimistic and ready.

What they didn't count on was an ongoing deal with a group of illegal poachers, who had tranquilizers strong enough to put down elephants on hand. Barry's metabolism sped through the drugs in a matter of minutes but by then, his nephew was gone. It took a day to find him, along with the three other men who were now resigned to eating through a tube for the rest of their miserable lives.

That's what calls out to Dick the most.

A day, one day, twenty-four hours, a thousand four hundred and forty minutes where anything could have happened.

Dick looked down at his watch and noted the few merciful minutes left until he reached Wally.

ooOoo

Wally was having a shit week. It began with a late chemistry paper that his professor refused to accept and spiraled out of control.

He hadn't talked to Barry since…well, since the whole botched operation. Not really at least. Their conversations at the moment were limited to clipped answers and hurried pacifications.

"I'm fine Flash, nothing happened"

"Look, just trust me Uncle Barry"

"I don't wanna talk about it!"

And after a more hysterical screaming match—no, I will not go to a therapist!—he had been benched indefinitely. School was out of the question as well. Barry insisted that he needed to take some time off and that he'd take care of university. Wally had adamantly refused but then his uncle threatened to bring over Aunt Iris and he caved. Wally was now under some sort of excused leave for a family emergency.

If he's being honest, he doesn't really know whether or not he wanted to go to class—which was strange because he truly enjoyed his course. There was just an itching below the surface of his skin that told him he wasn't ready to go back to school. Which made no sense, he didn't need time off to recuperate or heal or whatever else Barry insisted. Besides, school work would probably be preferable than waiting day in, day out in his stifling apartment. Brucely kept him company, but there was only so much slobber anyone could take.

There was also something missing in the picture of his apartment in a less than tidy state with the TV on and junk food all over.

His best friend.

Wally wasn't mad at Dick for not being there when the warehouse thing happened. He understood that the younger was off-radar to chase a lead that could potentially bring down a high level crime syndicate in Blüdhaven. Still, he wished he was here and—well, speak of the devil.

"Dude, about time you showed up!" Wally exclaimed with a grin on his face as he opened the door.

Dick was standing on his doorstep uncharacteristically disheveled. The Boy Wonder stared at him speechless. When he took too long to answer, Wally reached over and knocked on the blue-eyed teen's forehead.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

Finally, he moved. Dick opened his mouth and closed. His eyebrows were furrowed before smoothing out.

"I… got here as soon as I could"

"Yeah, I could tell. Come on in"

Wally led his friend into his humble abode and as he did so, he could feel blue eyes staring at him, observing him, scrutinizing every little detail. It was a bit unnerving and he felt the uncomfortable tickle of nervousness but that was unnecessary. He wasn't hiding anything.

"Dude, you could've at least bought over a pizza or two" the redhead said as he plopped down on his couch. Wally patted the seat beside him when Dick kept staring instead of sitting down. The ebony-head slowly settled on the other side.

"I—yeah, sorry about that" And Wally assumed that was the end of the awkwardness but instead, Dick turned to him and asked, "…Wally, are you ok?"

Wally bit his lip a microsecond before answering, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

The speedster watched his best friend fidget in discomfort and he decided to leave him to it and turned back to his show. The blonde bombshell on screen was thanking the hero and he silently ticked off the seconds until they kissed.

"Just… I heard about what happened… the warehouse" Wally could see Dick cringe at his choice of words and that was strange because this was the asterous, always-turbed, seldom-chalant, Dick Grayson.

Wally shrugged off the comment.

"Oh that, don't worry about it dude" He said as he waved his pale freckled hand to and fro. Finally the girl and the guy were making out in the standard cliché movie romance kiss.

"But" Dick looked at his friend, really looked.

"Dude, trust me, nothing happened" Wally patted him on his shoulder and smiled. His cheeks felt slightly stiff but he pressed on, "So… since you didn't bring anything, you up for takeout?"

ooOoo

This was surreal.

Between the mouthfuls of Chinese takeout and the out of place laugh track in whatever sitcom Wally insisted on watching, Dick kept throwing glances at his best friend. Wally was acting… weird. Not weird in a sense that he was doing something off character, instead he was acting too much like usual. Considering what happened, Dick was worried and kept trying to look for cracks in the speedster's behavior. So far, he couldn't find any.

Dick was bewildered. Was this… normal? Was this alright? He didn't know and that was driving him off the edge.

He replayed the information in his head. The report had mentioned a warehouse and that was it. There were no other details and Dick didn't have time to hack into the Batcave database. Perhaps it was as Wally insisted, nothing happened?

But what would make mild-mannered, good-humored Barry Allen put three men in the hospital? Maybe it was the accumulation of nerves from tirelessly looking for his nephew. The panic and worry could have shaded out his normally well-established limits?

Wally was acting as goofy as ever and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But then again, Dick knew that the redhead was a terrible liar and a really sucky actor. If there was anything wrong, he was certain he would be able to spot it.

Dick considered the possibility that he might have read too far into the vague details provided by Batman. Eventually, he began to slowly relax. He was uncertain and concerned but he just had to trust Wally on this. Soon, they slipped into their usual camaraderie filled with laughs and sarcastic jabs at the show.

It was going great until a muscle twitch of his fingers sent one of his chopsticks flying. Dick Grayson, the graceful acrobatic vigilante with the chopstick-dexterity of a cow. Without thinking, Dick reached over his best friend to grab the rebellious stick. It was only until he was half-leaning, half-hovering over the redhead did he realize what he was doing.

Dick looked up quickly to find green eyes wide. Wally's lips were laid out in a straight line. His hands wrapped tightly around the box of takeout and his shoulders were arched up protectively. Gotham wasn't a nice place to live in and unfortunately, Dick had seen that reaction far too many times to mistake it for something else.

It was the look of frozen fear.

Oh no

Hurriedly, Dick got off his friend.

Idiot! Why the hell wasn't he thinking!?

There was a tense sort of silence in the air. Dick looked away to at least give Wally a certain sense of control and privacy.

"Sorry I was—chopstick" Dick said lamely, all the while he was screaming at himself. He chanced a glance to find the redhead staring vacantly at his noodles. It took a painful second before the speedster seemed to collect himself and he finally turned to his friend.

"Oh yeah, don't worry about it man"

"Wally—"

"Gotta go to the bathroom"

And he was gone.

ooOoo

Wally leaned against the wooden bathroom door. His beating of his heart was painfully trying to achieve a new world record and breathing became monumentally more difficult. He slid down to the floor and tried to let the cool tiles ground him into the present.

When Dick had moved, he had panicked. He had felt so trapped, almost as if he was still being pinned down under the weight of tranquilizers.

He tried to calm himself, reassure that he was fine, that he was free. He tried to tell himself that he could go anywhere with nothing and no one to hold him back.

Besides, nothing happened.

Wally opened and closed his hands, he ran through the periodic table as he did so. He recited them by atomic number then atomic weight. He then classified them into their respective groups and repeated it all over again.

1 Hydrogen 1.008, non-metal…

2 Helium 4.003, noble gas…

3 Lithium 6.941, alkali metal…

Breathe Wallman, just breathe.

By his fifth round, he finally felt calm enough to stand up. Slowly he made his way over to the sink. Green eyes were reflected back at him. It was strange, he didn't look any different, aside from the dark skin around his eyes, but that was it. He looked the same but felt wrong somehow. Truth was, he didn't know what to feel.

Was he a victim?

No, he couldn't be. He didn't want to be.

He was supposed to be Kid Flash, the fastest teen alive. He was the partner of the Flash who knew exactly when and how to zip in and out in the nick of time. He was supposed to be a symbol to the youth but now, he felt unworthy of the title somehow.

If, hypothetically, on the off chance, he was to say he was a casualty of the job, how was he supposed to act?

He didn't want to cry or have some sort of breakdown. He just wanted to get this over with and so, with a few deep breaths, he shoved that train of thought far away.

Instead, he thought back to the Boy Wonder in his living room. No doubt his best friend would be worried. He would have questions that Wally couldn't really give concrete answers to. He thought about the chopstick. It was silly how such a small piece of wood could cause such a reaction, pathetic really. But he greatly appreciated Dick sensitivity to the issue.

But what if…?

What if Dick moved away because of him?

They say that cleanliness is next to godliness, well right now, Wally felt so far from the divine. Maybe Nightwing, the detective that he was sensed that there was something wrong with him, something nauseating like a disease that had to be quarantined away.

No that was ridiculous. Dick was his best friend. He wouldn't think of Wally as a monster that had to be put down. It wasn't like that.

Right?

Besides, Dick didn't even know what happened. There was no way that Batman's protégé could know; he had made uncle Barry swore not to tell a soul. It wasn't like Dick could sense that the redhead could still feel the phantom touch of calloused hands on his skin or smell the scent of onion breath ghosting against his lips. Dick couldn't possibly hear the grunts echoed out in the dark dank corner of an old warehouse. His best friend wouldn't know how it felt to have the cold concrete seep into his skin and how horrendous it felt to have his body start respond—no—no!

Stop!

Nothing. Happened.

Wally stared at his reflection. He looked the same but he felt so very different.

Filthy.

In that moment, Wally hated his reflection.

He opened up the medicine cabinet so he wouldn't have to look at his face.

With shaking hands, the redhead reached over to turn on the faucet. He splashed some water on his face, in the hope that it would jolt him away from his thoughts. He leaned over the porcelain rim of the sink and watched the water trickle down. It flowed clear out of the nozzle, swirling a bit at the drain before washing away into the sewer line. Wally let his hands stay under the cold water. Mechanically, he began to wash his hands.

He had been washing his hands more often lately. It was now some sort of ritual that he couldn't really escape. Plus, it helped a little. First he had to squeezed out a dollop of anti-bacterial soap and carefully rubbed his palms together. He'd then lather it over the back of his hands then along each digit in slow meticulous motion. Then he'd proceed to wash in between his fingers then his knuckles. He'd carefully run a fingernail under another to scrape off dirt and after which, he'd circle his wrists. Scrub scrub scrub. Rinse, repeat.

It wasn't enough.

He felt dirty all over.

He needed a shower.

ooOoo

As soon as Wally disappeared into his bathroom, Dick made to follow him. He had almost entered when he felt something hold him back.

Should he?

Wally was already on edge, would it help if Dick just entered as if he owned the place? No, he doubted the redhead would very much appreciate the invasion of his privacy.

Dick banged his head against the wood. He was so stupid. While he didn't know exactly what happened, he should've exercised caution. He should've been mindful enough to give Wally his space.

Dick was so angry, pissed off at himself and those godforsaken bastards. He had half a mind to head on over and just… do something. Anything at all as long as it sent the clear message.

Do not touch him

But under all his vitriol was anxiety. He hurt for his friend. Sorry didn't cover the full extent of his emotions, of his regret and the all-consuming desire to make it all better. He laid his hand against the door and wished it could convey it all. He wished he could take away the pain, wash away the scars both physical and emotional. But some battles could not be won just by steely determination. This time, he wouldn't be able to prevail with a quadruple or an accurately shot birdarang. There was nothing in his utility belt that could erase the memories of what happened in a day. The utter lack of option left him floundering. In the wake of his best friend's agony, he found himself utterly useless. Stuck on a tightrope that thinned with each step he took.

He sighed.

Dick moved away from the door and sat back down. The television was still droning on with some late night show. The innocuous boxes of Chinese takeout were still scattered out on the speedster's coffee table, on his side, lay his forgotten chopsticks. He quickly grabbed the devil-sticks and broke them in two. The action wasn't enough to fully satiate his anger and he found himself chucking the pieces away.

Brucely had come back with them, hoping for the most inappropriate session of fetch.

Dick groaned out.

He reviewed his options. What would be the best form of attack?

In the silence of his deliberation, Dick's ear twitched at the sound of water. His thoughts blanked, it was soothing in a way he couldn't quite explain. As he closed his eyes to listen, he tried to let his anger wash away, knowing that he would be of no help else wise. Soon, he heard a stronger stream of water.

A shower?

Wally was having a shower?

That was unexpected.

Perhaps it was time for him to head out? Maybe it was a cue from the redhead that he had overstayed his welcome. He stood up and walked to the front door and soon found himself rooted to the spot. Was this really it? Was he so much of a coward that he would leave his best friend, the most significant person in his life right now, simply because he didn't know what to do?

No.

He wasn't here when it happened nor any time right after. But he was here now and he had no intention of leaving.

He sat back down and turned his attention to the television. From what he gathered, Wally didn't want anyone to act like anything was off kilter and Dick could provide that at least. He grabbed back his box of noodles and another pair of chopsticks. He forced himself to sit down and eat. The taste was different now. It was spiced with the bitterness of guilt and apprehension. The acrobat returned the box back down and focused on the television instead. Blue eyes looked at the idiot box unseeing with ears that could only focus on the steady stream of water.

The minutes passed on unnoticed but then a loud noise from the TV brought him back. It took him a moment to realize that a different show was on and Wally was still in the bathroom, the water still running. He checked his watch. Wally, the speedster who typically took five minute showers, or when the occasion called for it fifteen minute hot baths, was spending an hour and counting.

Dick stood up in alarm. Indecision crawled up his legs and settled on the hand raised to the bathroom door. Finally, two brisk knocks and he called out, "Wally?"

No answer.

"Wally, dude it's been an hour, what are you doing there? Building a scale model of Atlantis?" He asked, desperately trying to add a bit of humor. Still no answer. Alright, different tactic then.

"Wals, I need to use your bathroom, so do you mind?"

Silence.

Dick worried his lip with his teeth and tried to keep his cool as he knocked again, a bit harshly this time. "Wally?"

Nothing.

"WALLY?"

Nada.

"Dude, I'm coming in" Dick opened the door and peeked inside.

The bathroom was steamy, fogged up like a game of Silent Hill. Dick could make out the shape of Wally in the shower and he released a relieved sigh. He was ok; he was just taking a really long hot bath. Dick began to close the door but he felt a nagging sensation that urged him to look more closely. The shower walls were opaque glass and Dick noticed how fast the redhead was scrubbing himself.

Frantically, Dick went over. He unintentionally slammed the shower door open but Wally seemed oblivious to the sound. Dick gasped.

The speedster's skin was rubbed raw from the scalding heat and friction burn. He had cuts that cried tears of red and Dick felt white hot rage.

He unthinkingly grabbed the speedster's scrubbing hand and Wally started at the intrusion. The redhead banged so strongly against the other side that it cracked. The terrified look on his face tore Dick's heart to pieces.

ooOoo

Wally had been furiously scrubbing away at his skin. Trying to wipe off all traces of what happened. But no matter how much he rubbed, he still felt like soiled goods.

He just had to rub harder.

When he had accidentally cut himself, he had looked at his bleeding hand with a sick sense of awe. Part of him insisted that he deserved it; that it was his punishment for 'letting' them do what they did. Another part of him argued against it but it was silenced as he dismally watched his skin sew itself back together. He felt hopelessly frustrated. How could he clean himself if his own body kept betraying him?

And his body did betray him. Back at the warehouse…

"Look at how hard you're getting, you want it don't you?"

"No! please don't"

He had tried to reason with them. His body was just responding he said. It wasn't his fault he said. It was a biological reaction. He had tried in vain to even convince himself of that but there was a distance he could not cross between knowing and believing.

A part of him didn't want to be convinced either, because once he accepted it, then that meant that he wasn't in control.

That he was a victim

One that didn't know how to act like one and refused to all the same.

He was going to be clean again. He just had to scrub faster maybe and the heat would kill off all the repulsive traces of what happened, the hotter it was, the better.

Scrub scrub scrub.

If he was going to be a hero again, he had to be clean. If he was going to be Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry's favorite nephew, the team's resident goofball and Dick's best friend, he had to be clean again.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his and Wally jumped away. He could feel small pinpricks of glass against his skin and a dull ache on his shoulder blades.

Not yet! Were they back again?

"Wally… what are you doing Wally?" A voice echoed out softly in the confined space of his bathroom. It took a moment for Wally to recognize it and Dick's face came clear against the haze of steam. Dick dark blue eyes looked pained and angry and Wally found himself backing further away. Better the prick of glass than the pinning stare of Nightwing.

"Wally, you're bleeding" Dick said as he reached out. Wally flinched at his touch, he was soiled goods and Dick was spotless. The acrobat's hand receded quick as lightning and Wally felt even surer of his assertions.

Dick found him revolting.

He looked at his hands. They were sore and red, and were beginning to heal. He cursed. His hard work was going to waste. He tried to turn the water back on but he met resistance.

"Wally! Stop!" Dick maneuvered his hands away but he couldn't stop, not right now. Just a little more.

"Let go Dick!"

"No! stop it! You're hurting yourself!"

"I'm fine! Go away!"

"Wally!"

Desperately, he shoved his friend back but Dick only growled and urgently lunged forward to pin his hands to the side. He tried to vibrate out of the hold but he was so tired. So very tired.

"Stop it Wally, why are you doing this?"

"I have to. Let me go Dick, please" he begged, he was shaking and he was getting dirty again, so sickeningly filthy.

"No Wally, not unless you tell me why" Blue eyes were staring at him intently. In it, he could see the willpower the Bats were so famous for and he hated how even he knew that it was time to fess up. Briefly he wondered if those dark blues would look at him the same way after his admission.

In a choking broken voice, he said, "I'm unclean"

"What?"

"I'm unclean, I'm filthy…I'll contaminate you Dick, please let go, just please let go. I'll try harder I swear, I'll be clean again. I—just—have—toscrub alittlebitmore, afewmoretimes pleaseDick pleasepleaseplease" Wally couldn't shut his mouth. He wasn't even fully aware of what he was saying but the litany of entreaties went by and brought along disobedient tears.

Wally tried to lean away from Dick. He might've been tainted but he didn't want to sully his friend. Instead of moving away, Dick stepped closer and Wally whimpered. He soon felt soft cotton around him. His legs shook at the effort to hold himself up and he began to sink down but instead of the cold tile on his knees, he felt Dick's arms wrap around him.

He began to hyperventilate

Too tight, too close. I need room.

The pressure of Nightwing's arms around him felt suffocating; a little bit more and he'd surely break.

"Dick please, don't touch me. You'll get infected… no one's going to want me…" Wally's throat felt sore from the confession.

"Please Dick"

Wally didn't know what he expected but the soft press of lips against his forehead wasn't it.

"Shhh, Wally, shhh" Dick's lips murmured against his skin. Wally shook, it was too much contact, too much.

"Wally, breathe for me, please"

He could do that.

His nose was assaulted by something minty and vanilla-y, like pricey aftershave. There were traces of cinnamon and sugar from what he'd guess would be cereal and various breakfast foodstuffs. There was the musty scent of sweat and slight smokiness. It reminded him of Bludhaven, the smog covered streets and the blue bird flying pass. This smell was Dick. Completely and utterly, Richard John Grayson-Wayne.

He was safe.

"That's it Wally, nice and slow, in and out" Dick voice said and he tightened his hold on the Boy Wonder. Dick was so warm, but not intensely so like the shower or sticky warm like those men. He was just warmth and cookies and home.

Wally didn't know how they ended up on the floor, with his towel wrapped around him as well as Dick green sweater. But anyhow, he was partly on his best friend while Dick ran soothing circles on his back.

Wally felt Dick's lips push against his forehead once more. It was affection but there wasn't anything sexual about it—just an innocent press of the lips that reminded him that he was safe and wanted. Loved.

It reminded him that he had a place to come back to when everything went to shit. And the idea that he could still belong somewhere even after what happened, felt liberating beyond his imagination.

"Wally, you're clean, I swear. Please believe that" Dick had whispered against his temple as the ebony-haired held him slower. This was the kind of touch that felt right—the kind that Wally wanted.

Wally wanted to say yes, that he did believe his own innocence in this whole debacle. But he couldn't. Things didn't magically work out just because he was safe in the comfort of his blue bird's arms. There was no quick fix to the cards misfortune decided to deal to him. No angle that would instantaneously fix how he felt.

Fix him.

But it did help to know that Dick had his back and even though he couldn't trust himself, he did trust his best friend. It would take time, how much he couldn't really say, but he was willing to make the effort and that was at least a start.

"I'll try"