Part 3 of 3 (and one bonus)! Enjoy, folks!

Save You

The Second Time: Age 18

His apartment was cold when he muscled the door open, shoving on it with his sore shoulders when it got stuck in the door frame. A dusting of snow was starting to melt in his hair, and his uniform was damp from the snow drift he'd landed in several hours earlier. Dick took as deep a breath as he could manage before his cracked ribs protested, and shivered hard enough to aggravate every sore muscle in his body.

The window was cracked open, just enough for an arm to fit through from the fire escape. Dick couldn't remember if he'd left it that way or if someone had opened it after he left for his second patrol of the night, and honestly he couldn't muster up enough energy to care. He hauled himself back to the bedroom and found his lamp on, illuminating a pair of track pants and a t-shirt laid out on the bed with a folded piece of paper.

You needed groceries. If you get back before I do, take a shower and do something about the inevitable bruising from that beat-down at the hospital. We need to talk.
-Wally

P.S. Seriously, if the expiration date is before you graduated high school, THROW IT OUT.

Dick pulled his mask off and scrubbed a hand over his face. After six years and one very uncomfortable debrief regarding his past suicide attempts, Wally had learned to interpret the periodic radio silences and emotional withdrawals with a reasonable degree of accuracy. He grabbed the dry clothing and a towel off the shelf in his closet and stumbled to the bathroom, peeling off layers of kevlar and spandex as he went.

Morbid curiosity struck him as he was waiting for the water to heat up, and he twisted as much as he could manage to see the bruising in the mirror. It was already starting to bloom, yellow and purple and black and green radiating off his shoulder blades. He relaxed with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the counter. He looped the towel over the bar and tossed his dry clothes on the toilet seat before ducking around the shower curtain.

For a long time - maybe an hour, maybe all night, for all he cared - Dick stood under the shower head, leaning heavily on the tiled wall to keep his weight off the aching, oozing bullet wound to his left hip from a couple nights before. He closed his eyes and focused on the tactile sensation of water over his skin, trying desperately to hang onto reality around him.

A knock on the bathroom door startled him upright, eyes snapping open like waking up from a nightmare. "Dick? Still alive," Wally's voice called through the door.

"Yeah," Dick called back, his voice scratched and strained. "Yeah, I'm here." He shut off the water and reached for his towel, his feet curling on the ragged bath mat as he went from the cloud of steam to the cold air left from the open window. With stiff, pained jerks, Dick pulled on a pair of boxers and the track pants. He stared at the t-shirt for a long, conflicted moment before tossing it onto his towel heaped in the corner - the thought of stretching it over his head was offensive.

Wally was leaning against the wall when Dick stepped out of the bathroom. He held two steaming mugs, one balanced in each hand, and a quick breath through his nose told Dick that they were hot cocoa - taking a page from Alfred's playbook, I see. Well then.

"I found Alfred's recipe card on the fridge," Wally explained, handing him the mug with the Scrabble R tile printed on it. "I figured it'd be a good idea, given the night you've had."

Dick took a sip to avoid answering, and let the taste roll around in his mouth for a second before swallowing. Perfect temperature, perfect blend of spices and sweet milk and melted dark chocolate - if he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could imagine he was back home again. "Don't you have a girlfriend somewhere, why are you propositioning me with hot chocolate," he joked weakly.

"Artemis says hi, by the way," Wally said, following Dick out into the living room. "She wants to know why you quit calling. Says she misses your stupid voice."

"I've been busy," Dick exhaled, lowering himself to the couch. The window was closed and the thermostat turned up, and when Dick glanced into the kitchen, a wad of rust brown-stained paper towels were sitting forgotten on the counter. "You vibrated through my door, didn't you."

"The things you drive me to, asshat," the 20-year-old grumbled without malice. "You wanna tell me what's been going on lately?"

"No," Dick offered blankly, curling around his mug in a defensive hunch. "Really, can't say that I do."

"Tough, you're going to anyway," Wally pushed. "Dick, I watched you tonight. Stuck around long enough to make sure the police showed up, and then I came here. I nearly jumped in to save your ass - you were barely putting up a fight back there, it was actually scary."

Dick shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.

Wally leaned forward. "Do you remember last time? How scared Roy and I were of losing you out on that bridge?" When Dick didn't acknowledge him, Wally slid closer on the couch. "Cause I do. I remember almost losing my best friend out there, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could've done to save you. And lemme tell you, it sucks, to know that you might be too late. You might get there three seconds after he lets go, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

"I'm sorry, okay," Dick snapped, curling away from him. "It's not exactly like I'm choosing to be this way for kicks."

"And I'm not saying you are," Wally soothed. "But seriously? I don't want you to feel like you need to fight this by yourself. I'm here for you, Bruce is here for you, Alfred is here for you, Tim and the Team and the rest of the League if you need them, we are all here for you. And when you go all radio silence on us, on me especially, it's goddamn terrifying, you know? Because what if I do decide to check up on you, and I'm two seconds too late? I don't want you to feel like this is just your fight, like you can't call in backup, okay?"

Dick rolled his shoulders in a shrug and tucked his mug closer to his sternum, feeling the warmth drift up toward his face. "Yeah, but it is my fight," he insisted sullenly. "It shouldn't be anyone else's problem."

"No, see," Wally said, leaning over and setting his mug on the floor. "I know you can't see this right now, but we love you. The Team, the League, Alfred, Babs, Bruce, we all love you. Okay, look at it like this. How many times have we saved each others' asses in the field? More than either of us care to count, right?"

Dick nodded, staring at him over the rim of his mug.

"And the Team. Artemis and Kaldur and M'gann and Connor and Garfield, they'd all have your back in a firefight, no questions asked, right? You trust them to stick close and cover your blind spots, right?"

Dick nodded again and took a slow sip from his mug.

"So why would this be any different? Why would we all just suddenly leave you in the middle of a fight, because this is a little different from the fights we're used to?"

"I dunno," Dick sighed, slumping against Wally's shoulder. "I just... I know I'm a liability when I get like this. I don't want to get anyone else hurt."

Wally snorted. "Yeah. Sure. You, a liability. Dude, you are the least liability-ish person I know. Seriously."

Dick stayed limp and silent against Wally's shoulder for a long minute, mug balanced on his kneecap with one hand. "...Think Bruce would totally disown me, if I told him about this? I mean, hypothetically speaking."

"Dunno, you know the man better than I do. I doubt it'd be negative, though." Wally nudged Dick off him so he could lean over for his own rapidly cooling mug. "You could always ask Alfred for his expert opinion. Y'know, baby steps."

"You're insane. You're actually certifiable."

Wally chuckled. "Alright, alright. Smaller than baby steps. Um. Cell mitosis? Youuuu could tell Kaldur. Kaldur's safe, right?"

"...I don't know."

"Dude, the most Kaldur would do is check in with you once a week, make sure you weren't stashing razors or pills in your utility belt."

"Think he'd tell Canary?"

"Not if you don't want him to. He's a big boy now, all grown-up and leader-y. He doesn't go running to her about everything."

"...This is pretty big."

Wally sighed and reached over to slide a hand through Dick's still-damp hair. "Yeah, it is. But if you don't want him to tell, and he doesn't think you're an immediate danger to yourself, he's going to keep his mouth shut. I mean, I have, against my better judgment sometimes."

Dick drained his mug and rested it on his knee again, fingers curled around the residual warmth. "Hey, Wally?"

"Mm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Shoot."

"...I've been planning."

To his credit, Wally only glanced over at the head leaning against his t-shirt, eyebrows tilting up toward his hairline with concern. "When?"

"Probably next Tuesday."

"Any special reason?"

Dick shrugged. "Next Tuesday felt like a good day for it."

Wally shifted and wrapped an arm around Dick's bare, bruised shoulders and leaned his cheek against the damp head of hair brushing his neck. "How're you gonna do it?"

"I have a capsule of Joker venom left over from an Arkham break about a year ago. Make it look like a Joker attack, maybe... Maybe Bruce wouldn't hate me for it."

"He wouldn't hate you. I don't think it's possible for him to hate you. You might kill him, he might spend the rest of his life seeking vengeance for your, quote-unquote, murder, but he wouldn't hate you." Wally hugged him as tightly as Dick's bruises would allow, and Dick cautiously slid his arms around Wally's waist, terrified at how appreciative he was of the physical contact. "Hey, Dick?"

"Huh?"

"Thanks for telling me. Really."

Dick turned his head so his forehead was pressed into Wally's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, all the guilt and the fear and the you shouldn't have told him, he's going to rat you out because you're nuts pressing on the inside of his ribcage, trying to break free.

"You mind if I stay tonight?" When Dick didn't answer, Wally pushed his head up as gently as he could manage and used the arm around Dick's back to pull him up off the couch. "C'mon, bedtime. It's been a long night."

"Can't sleep," Dick muttered, halfway embarrassed to admit it.

"Doesn't matter, just laying down is good for healing bruises." Wally shepherded him toward the bedroom and grabbed the note on the nightstand as Dick slid into bed. "And, tomorrow? We're going to have a talk about grocery shopping. Seriously, if a can of soup is more than eighteen months old, throw it away. Good lord." He flicked off the lamp and wandered out through the path of light to the door. "I'll be on the couch, come wake me up if you need to. Night."

And that's the last "official" one-next up is our +1, and then this shindig is all wrapped up!