Normally Dick doesn't care where he is—a bed is a bed and sleep is sleep. But given everything that's happened in the past few days, what with Artemis and her… mission, and everything surrounding that—sleep isn't coming easily. He thought getting out of the cave, where everyone's somber eyes and set jaws made the atmosphere comparable to an ICU ward, would help. The Batcave was out of the question—Alfred would only ask questions, none of which Dick wanted to answer.

That leaves his place in Bludhaven—barely used, even taking into consideration he'd only had it a few months.

It quickly becomes apparent, though, that it wasn't the atmosphere that kept Dick from sleeping. If anything, being in this place—still cold from lack of habitation, dusty, eerily still—is making it more difficult.

His rest, when it comes, is fitful and short-lived. And each time, his mind is haunted by images of Artemis' chest covered in blood, flashes of Kaldur's twisted expression, snatches of Wally's angry voice—any and everything eats away at him. Despite the cold, he wakes up sweating each time.

It's a vision of Kaldur and Artemis getting caught—their deaths swift and immediate, the explanations of what really happened, the renewed pain of loved ones—that plagues Dick when his phone rings. The spell broken, he sits bolt upright.

By the ringtone, he knows it's his personal cellphone. Only a few individuals are privy to the number. And, despite the hour (three in the morning, he confirms), each of those people deserves his attention whenever they look for it. He rolls over and grabs the device from the nightstand.

He hits the 'Answer' button without glancing at caller ID. "'Lo?" he grumbles out, half-asleep.

There's silence on the other end of the line, but Dick waits. He shifts so he lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling with the phone pressed to his ear.

"Hey."

Dick finds the energy to frown just a little bit—lately these conversations haven't ended well.

"Wally."

Given recent events, the last thing Dick expected was a call from Wally.

But there's no mistaking the voice on the other end of the line.

"… You couldn't sleep either, could you?" Wally asks.

Dick finds himself tempted, for a moment, to lie. Then he remembers who he's talking to. "No."

For a moment or two, they're utterly silent. Wally's breathing is the only thing Dick hears.

But someone has to break the spell. Dick, before he can stop himself, blurts something out.

Wally doesn't immediately respond. Then: "Dude, what'd you just say?"

Dick takes a deep breath, rubs his face. "I'm sorry, Wally. I'm sorry I asked this of you and I'm sorry I asked this of her—"

"Dude—"

"—and I'm sorry I've put her in this danger—"

"Dick."

Oh. Way to pay attention, Grayson. "What?"

"Just… it's—just stop for a sec, okay?"

There are still hundreds of apologies on his lips, but Dick remains quiet.

"Look, I'm still not… okay with everything that's happened. But I know—" Wally cuts himself off with a frustrated sound from the back of his throat. Every word is a struggle for him—that much Dick can tell. "You do need her. No one else can handle this job."

Is this what he called for…?

Dick isn't sure whether he should verbally agree or not, because that was his position all along. He ends up nodding, but then remembers Wally can't see that. "I—yeah," he responds, "and I'm so grateful for the sacrifice she's making. And your sacrifice."

"It's not like I could have stopped her, if she wanted it badly enough," Wally replied. Dick can almost see him smiling half-heartedly. "You know how she is."

"Yeah, I do."

There's another pause, heavy with words gone unsaid.

"Look, Wally," Dick says, chewing over each word carefully, "I know you're not happy with me right now. I know this entire situation probably pisses you off, and I get that, but—I just want you to know I'm still here. Y'know, if you need someone to talk to."

There's no answer. Dick bites back a sigh, cursing himself. Stupid, Grayson. Like he wants to talk to you when this is all your own damned fault.

He starts to take it back. "Look, forget—"

But the line clicks dead. Dick looks at the phone, confirming Wally did in fact hang up on him. Something like a growl crawls up his throat, and he throws the phone across the room. He lies there, berating himself and calling himself every colorful word he can think of.

He's not sure how long he remains in that state, but a knock on the door jars him from his thoughts. He frowns, sitting up and sliding out of bed. By force of habit, he grabs his escrima sticks as he walks out of the room toward the front door. When he gets there and looks through the peephole, he's surprised to find a familiar red head of hair in his vision.

Did he zeta here or something?

He sets the escrima sticks down and opens the door, still frowning. "Wally, what—"

Wally cuts Dick off by yanking him into a hug.

For a moment, Dick can only stand there, shocked. He can't even remember the last time he and Wally shared a physical touch that lasted longer than a few seconds—let alone a full-blown embrace.

"Just tell me she's going to be okay."

Dick finally eases into the hug, returning it with as much strength as he can muster. "She's tough. If anyone can get through this, she can."

Wally's grip tightens.

Somewhere, in the midst of this, an unspoken understanding travels between them. There's mutual guilt, mutual grief, mutual pain—nothing is one-sided, nothing left on the fringes.

Finally, after a minute or two (maybe it's longer, Dick can't tell and doesn't care), Wally loosens his hold and pulls away. Dick can see tear tracks on his friend's cheeks, but doesn't mention them.

"I know you care about her," Wally mutters, voice thick.

"I care about both of you," Dick corrects, "more than almost anyone else."

Wally nods. "Yeah. I guess I just… I didn't forget, I just let myself doubt." He bites his lip. "I'm sorry."

"You never had to apologize," Dick responds.

"No, I did," Wally says. Dick is about to protest further when Wally continues. "I don't care if you think so or not, Dick, because I wouldn't be able to do anything else and feel good about it. Not when…" He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think I can get through this alone. And there isn't anyone else I can talk to about this." He lifts his gaze, green eyes meeting blue. "There's no one else I want to talk about this with. I need my best friend."

Dick prides himself on being fairly good with people. He prides himself on knowing what to say and how to respond in a given situation.

Very rarely is he left speechless.

Somehow, though, it seems only appropriate his best friend is the one to leave him in such a state.

So, beyond words, the only thing Dick is left with is to pull Wally to him and squeeze.

"I missed you."

"Same here."

and yet another Depths-related piece from me (yes, I still have more up my sleeve).

this is a completely oneshot - don't put it on your alerts.