Author's Note: I've written this five times and this is the best I could do. If I have better inspiration I may write an alternate chapter. But I'm 75% ok with this, so that's enough for me to post it. I feel like the ending is a but rushed, but whatever.

Disclaimer: as usual, the only thing I own is the food I'm eating right now. Lyrics and characters are property of their respective owners.

Summary: He's ready to begin. He's easy to accept. He's quick to fear. He kisses with admittance. Rated T for language (?). Wally/Dick slash. Yummy, angsty, one kiss goodness.

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go - Part Two

I've seen love go by my door

It's never been this close before

Never been so easy or so slow

I've been shooting in the dark too long

When something's not right it's wrong

You're gonna make me lonesome when you go

- Bob Dylan, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go

There was an accident.

The mission went wrong.

Have you ever killed a man?

When it begins, it's with a present.

Wally had been staring at the building for a solid fifteen minutes, not moving, which was a feat in itself. Speedsters don't stand still. Bart's updated uniform, set in camo mode, blended in well with the shadow of the forest behind him. His hyperactive mind threatened to reveal him when he had the urge to play with his suits settings. Instead he resorted to an old habit. Like he had used to do with the Kid Flash suit, he fingered the compartment on his forearm. Not because he was hungry.

He was nervous.

It had started eight months ago.

Dick had told him on a Thursday that he'd be gone for three months(ish), on an extended mission. Wally knew that meant undercover, something he hadn't been particularly pleased with, seeing as how those were the most dangerous. He had half a mind to tell Dick that he was an idiot and this was exactly why he had quit in the first place, because putting oneself in stupid situations such as these -

But that wasn't the point.

The point was Thursday.

Thursday, April 30th, 2020.

It was April thirtieth, the day before Dick's twenty-third birthday, when he told him.

"I'll be leaving soon and I'm counting on you. So that means no wild parties in my apartment, dude," Dick said, trying to get his friends attention.

"Well, there goes my weekend plans," Wally mumbled. He was too busy playing video games, only half listening to the man. Dick had gotten used to it though. Wally was over four nights a week, splitting his time between his best friends place and his own, back in Central. Dick would tell him again in a few hours, before he left to go work the night-shift at Blüdhaven's Police Department. His raven haired friend had been given a promotion to full-blown detective a few months back, something Wally had made sure that they celebrated with hard liquor and pizza, but the promotion came with a heavy work-load. Which, in turn, had caused Wally to make sure that Dick got the rest he needed, something that required a lot of favors for Tim and Babs so that they would patrol Dick's city.

It was also something that caused problems between him and Dick.

Wally wasn't trying to push him away from being a hero, but the red head couldn't deny that he always slept a little better knowing his rock, best friend, whatever, was safe and sound for at least a few hours of the day when Dick was just Dick. Not Detective Grayson or Nightwing.

"Seriously, Walls, I'm leaving the key with you -"

"If you can't trust me, why not give one to Tim - dammit, shoot, damn you. Shoot!"

Dick rolled his eyes at him. "Tim already has a key to my place. He's over here enough that you should know that. But you're an idiot, so I guess I can understand your confusion."

"Dude!"

"As I was saying, no wild parties. I only need you to get my mail, make sure the landlord gets the rent, and that no one breaks in."

Throwing the controller behind him onto the couch after his character died, Wally turned to stare at Dick. "Man, your dad's Bruce Wayne. Like, a gazillionaire. Why do you insist on staying in this rinky-dink apartment?"

Dick scrunched his nose. "First off, my legal guardian is not a 'gazillionaire.' He's just a tad shy past billionaire." Wally snorted. "Secondly - I can take care of myself. I don't need to rely on Bruce. I can rely on me." Wally opened his mouth. "And, last but not least, water my plants while I'm away. I don't want to come home to a dead ficus."

Wally laughed.

That night, thirty minutes before Dick left for work and as he watched his human garbage disposal of a best friend devour his kitchen, he told him the list again of what needed to be taken care of in his absence.

Annoyed, Wally groaned through a mouthful of chicken. He wasn't surprised by Dick's answer when he asked what this supposed three month long mission was about. Dick just shoved more food onto his plate and smirked, "Hero stuff, dude. Stake outs on rooftops that lead to sleeping legs and swinging in to save the day, trying to get glass out of your hair later. Boring stuff. More tea?"

And Wally took it as that. Dick never really told him about the hero gig anymore anyway. Not since Wally had called it quits and ran off into the sunset to be with Artemis. Except now the sun had risen, Artemis was living with her mom and he was staying alone in Central or in Blüdhaven with Dick.

When Dick had actually left for work, Wally finishing off a tub of ice cream, the red head gathered his things, leaving a small box, wrapped in black paper with a blue ribbon on the counter before smiling and speeding off to central.

Apparently Nightwing had really meant it when he said he'd be leaving soon.

Returning to the apartment two days later, Wally was slightly surprised and hurt to find the present still sitting there.

When he realizes it, it's as easy as smiling.

It happened quicker than he thought it would.

Falling in love again.

It was a month into The Mission, and he was watching Tim and Conner spar in the teams latest hideout. They moved like he supposed how he and Dick used to move. M'gann had once pointed it out to him, how when the best friends had used to train together it was more like dancing than fighting. It hadn't always been a game between them, or a match, or to see who could one-up the other - though that happened very often. They didn't fight each other. They fought with each other. They learned the other's secrets; to know when they moved, how they moved, why the moved. Wally later came to know that it was something that all bat brat's possessed, something they learned from their mentor. When they trusted someone completely, they let them in, left themselves open to be protected, a wordless statement that they'll accept another person's help.

It was the most trust you could get out of a Bat.

He liked to say it happened out of the blue. That he was struck by lighting (hah, that's for you, Uncle B), that Cupid popped out of the ceiling, rainbows and clouds and sparkly shit and shot him right through the heart. That he just suddenly felt it take over his skin, muscles, bones, neutrons, electrolytes, cells, down to his very soul, from his head to his toes.

He wanted it to be as cliché as possible, because he was Wally West. Cliché, he could work with. Cliché was what landed him all the ladies. He was cliché, from top to bottom. It was his middle name.

But it wasn't sudden, not the way he had expected it to be.

As he watched Tim and Con, watched them in the mountain that didn't really hold any memories for him other than the fact that he was good friends with some of the people in it, the feeling was just there, like it was etched into his mainframe, down to his ribosomes, residing inside him like it had always been there.

It made him feel exposed, naked, vulnerable.

Like how Tim's staring made him feel recently.

Wally had been hanging out with Tim lately, since Dick had left. The younger male didn't seem too bothered by the red head, so Wally took that as a good sign. Occasionally, he would find Tim's blue eyes on him, aware of it besides the fact that he wore the glasses. It helped that he had been friends with Dick for so long.

Those times were unnerving, when he could tell he was being stared at by Tim, he felt as if he was on display, naked and open. He hadn't felt that way for a long time, not since a few months before he quit the hero gig. He remembered that he had once said he felt naked in civvies, vulnerable without his Kid Flash uniform, defenseless without being able to be one of the fastest people alive.

Impotent, is the word he had used when telling Dick how he felt, a night where they both relieved their fears of not knowing who they were, who they felt that they could be. Wally had always thought that he wouldn't be able to be anyone other than Wally West, Kid Flash, fastest kid alive, KF.

Dick had thrown that in his face when he had decided to quit, and when he looked back on it, he knew why. He had left his best friend, left him even though they had made that unspoken agreement when they found out that night what they were doing was bigger than they could ever fathom.

It had, in time, scared Wally, and he left.

Left Robin.

Left Nightwing.

Left Dick.

That's what this feeling felt like. Like he was being judged, being sized up, figuring out his worth, open for the world to see.

In a way, it was comforting and terrifying and sent shivers down his spine - this feeling.

Past the unease he felt the bubble of laughter in his stomach, the warmth of blood rushing under his skin, the stretch of a smile on his lips, the tingle in his hands, the vibrations of his DNA. It was just there.

He was in love with Dick Grayson, his best friend.

So he smiled, because, duh.

When he fears it, he's yelling and scared and trembling and clueless.

Dick always made it home.

It was a thought that he had kept in his head for years. Being a superhero, you had to say thoughts like that to yourself. It helped keep you sane. It helped so that you didn't buckle under all the pressure. It was a coping mechanism.

It was a very dangerous coping mechanism.

Thoughts like this didn't help keep your guard up, it left you open to surprises and failure. Thinking that the bomb will always be shut down was problematic, because it's not always shut down. Thinking that you'll get the bad guys because you're the good guy doesn't work out, because life doesn't work out like that. Thinking that you'll be able to save everyone is soul-shattering, because sometimes - sometimes you can't.

So the thought - Dick always comes home - leaves a bad taste in his mouth when month three is done and suddenly they've moved on to month five.

Wally's relocated to Blüdhaven permanently, only going to Central for work, even then having half a mind to transfer. Dicks apartment seems to grow colder and darker every time he steps into the quiet place, the walls seeming to mock him with the silence.

He hears Tim's words in his head hourly, "It's just taking longer than expected." They ring in his ears, causing him to miss steps in the lab, to stop and stare a little too long at a shop window, to put a hold on his appetite like he wasn't a Flash, to make his heart clench. But he had to have faith in Tim's words, because that's all he had. Dick didn't leave him anything to communicate with, so all he had was Tim.

But then Tim wasn't enough. And the boy knew it, could see it in the speedsters eyes that "it's just taking longer than expected," wasn't cutting it anymore.

When Tim started to avoid him, Wally finally lost it.

Because Bruce sure as hell wasn't saying anything, and the constant frown on his face when asked could mean anything from 'why the hell are you bugging me' to 'he's dead'.

Babs feigned innocence, or so he thought. Her brows furrowed when asked, and he couldn't help but think and hope that she was in the dark, that he wasn't alone in his worry.

Damien was a little shit and just insulted him constantly.

That left Tim.

So Wally pestered and prodded and poked and jabbed and pleaded and yelled.

This was Dick, his best friend, his partner in crime, his person, his everything.

And he wasn't back from his mission, wasn't where Wally could see him.

It scared the living hell out of him, and holding onto Red Robin's shoulders, trying to see past the white lenses of his mask, shaking the younger boy in ways that weren't safe for his neck, refusing to hear Conner's threats that, if he didn't let go of the Wonder Boy his face was going to meet the pavement, he's completely and utterly lost.

"Tim." Even his voice doesn't sound like he knows anything anymore. "Tim, please, I can't do this anymore. Just tell me, man. What happened? Where is he?!" He feels Conner's hand on his shoulder, squeezing and knows that if it wasn't for his speed-healing, it would be bruised for weeks. But he doesn't care, Wally hadn't seen Dick for five months, not since Dick told him that Thursday night, April thirtieth, 2020, a day before Dick's birthday, that he was going on an extended mission, one that would last three months(ish) and that he wouldn't be there to feed the human garbage disposal that was supposedly his best friend.

And Wally needed to tell Dick, needed to hold Dick, needed to breath Dick.

And Tim takes off the mask, stares at the man who's gripping his shoulders and shaking him with his trembles, with enough ferocity to possibly kill him, the man who is scared and pleading and begging and yelling and confused and oh so lost. And Wally feels raw, naked, and he can see that Tim knows why he's like this, has looked through his eyes and into his soul and knows.

So Tim speaks.

"There was an accident."

Wally's grip tightens.

"The mission went wrong."

Wally holds his breath.

"Have you ever killed a man?"

Have you ever killed a man?

When he admits it, he's getting punched in the face.

Hard.

He had left his vigil by the woods and had raced across the lake in a matter of microseconds before setting off some kind of silent alarm, he could only presume, and he was getting punched in the face.

He repeats: hard.

Have you ever killed a man?

It takes another three months, but Tim eventually told him where Dick was.

He's with Jason. On some charming little island off the coast of the Caribbean.

Dick's with Jason, safe, alive, on some cheery little island, soaking up sun and alive.

Have you ever killed a man?

Dick had asked him that, a couple of years ago. The younger male knew the answer, it was impossible for something like that to stay secret between them.

Wally West had never killed a man.

And neither had Richard Grayson. For the most part.

Tim had told him the story.

Bruce had been Dick's handler, something to tether to man to his own reality as he went undercover as a villain; Talon he had called himself. It was something that they had been working on for years, something that had been going on longer than Wally, the team, anyone could have guessed. Tim had only been brought in for the last year, so his knowledge was limited, but he told Wally everything that he could.

Dick had completed the mission. Flawlessly. Perfectly. Superbly. This was Dick. Bad guys went to jail, insane bad guys went to Arkham, super bad guys went to Belle Reve. One man went to the hospital, in a coma, the outcome didn't look good.

On paper, Dick had completed the mission.

Off paper, in the acrobats eyes, he failed.

His name was Tommy Fink. He was a nine-to-five business man, had two daughters, a wife, three dogs, five fish and a cat. He lived in a four bedroom house, backyard, went to church, grilled on the weekends and took two family vacations a year. He looked nice in the picture Tim had shown him. Fink had been pressured by his boss into letting the gang use his work building as storage, so-to-speak. He never touch the drugs, never handled the weapons, never sold anything - he just left the back door unlocked, praying to god that he got home to his family in one piece.

When things started going south for the perps, they narrowed in on Fink, someone who was always hesitant about helping out and outside their circle of trust. They sent Talon and two other thugs to 'interrogate' him.

Talon made a mistake.

Talon hit his head a little too hard.

Talon couldn't alert Batman fast enough.

Talon had had to laugh through his worry and pain and failure.

Talon was successful.

Dick had to live with that success.

Have you ever killed a man?

It took three weeks after the mission for Bruce to locate his son, and only then it was because Jason had called, said to stay away, I've got this. Golden Boy is safe with me. Just have Baby B send over some clothes. The Demon Spawn isn't allowed.

He supposed he should have called first, thinking back on it.

Jason stands over him, seething and smiling and it's a look Wally hasn't seen for a long time, he's been out of the game for so long.

"What part of 'stay away' does Bruce and Baby B find confusing?" Wally, shocked over the first punch, doesn't think to dodge the second.

Good thing is, he doesn't have to.

"Jay, I know babysitting me for Bruce can get boring, but there's no need to violently assault my friend."

Wally's heart drops as he glances over Jason's shoulder and sees the man that he's been looking for, the man who is ingrained into his skin and brain, the man who looks just as lost as he feels and suddenly he's phasing through Jason's clenched fist and is grasping Dick's face in his hands.

The blue eyes, uncharacteristically visible, were glowing, on edge, and hurting. But there was a shine, something that Wally hoped was from seeing him. His gloved hands held on tight, fingers smoothing out invisible lines on the mans face as he listened to Jason grumble about secret hideouts and fruity men.

Dicks lips twitched. "Shut it, Jay, or I'll tell Superboy exactly who you've been crushing on." Jason stalks off as Wally laughs, louder than he meant to and watches as Dick's own laughter escapes, not quite his patented cackle, but seemingly just as easy and natural.

The red head smiles, and holds on tighter to Dick's face when he tries to move away. Dick stares up at him, guarded and questioning.

"You probably already know it, but god, you're such a brat," Wally breathes across his face. Dick is looking flustered and worried and confused and hopeful and Wally can't help but bop him on his forehead with his own. "I love you, dude."

And he kisses him like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Well then... Ok. I threw in Talon because I'm working on a story for it. It will be a long time coming before THAT gets to see the light of day. Thanks for reading!

Eva