Okay, so this is future self writing here—the beginning chapters are very, very crappy. I'm here to warn you of three things:

- Death

- Cursing

- Lies

0o0o0o0

Be careful.

Wally always dreamed about Robin.

It was always the same dream every night that reminded him of the same fact:

Robin was missing.

He wasn't dead—he couldn't be. He was just missing and had been missing for four years. He had gone a few weeks before his eleventh birthday and had never been seen again.

Not dead.

Dead would mean that Wally was a murderer.

Wally was holding Robin in his arms a few moments before his disappearance. The little boy had been bleeding out, Wally was dying, and there was no one to save them.

The reminder that it was his fault that Robin was gone constantly invaded his sleep every time he closed his eyes and waited to dream.

And every time, he would watch Robin smile at him, hands raised, hoping Wally would catch him and knowing that he couldn't.

Every time, he would wake with those dreaded words in his ears.

"God damn it, just save him!"

0o0o0o0

Wally awoke with a start. He was gasping for breath, which wasn't a surprise—until you realize that his heart wasn't beating, so he had no reason to be breathing at all.

'It was just a nightmare,' he thought to himself. 'You're fine, it's just a little dream gone wrong—nothing crazy to be worried about. Just a nightmare.'

It was like a mantra, repeating the words over and over again to make himself calm down. And he was right, it really was just a nightmare, but, as unfortunate as it was, it was also a memory.

A memory that he really didn't want to remember at the moment. He looked over at the clock sitting on his bedside table. The numbers were a bright red, not unlike the kind of his suit. They were flashing at a set pace angrily, almost as if it was trying to scare him off.

Well, it was certainly working.

He could have sworn that morning he could hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, but that was always just false hope. He was just a walking zombie if he really thought about it. Well, more like a running zombie. The ones on TV were always so slow.

Scoffing at himself, he brought himself out from under his covers, using his super speed to make his bed and clean up the trash that littered his floor. He wasn't neat by any means, but he at least went out of his way to clean it up enough so that it didn't smell like crap.

His room used to be a pigsty, but ever since the... event happened, he couldn't help but take matters into his own hands; that, and Robin always used to complain about the stench, even if it was in a joking matter.

It was ironic really. The ebony-haired acrobat had actually made a list of things that Wally should have done, and he bet that he wouldn't ever do it anyways. That included stuff like studying for his history tests, looking both ways before crossing the road, and, yes, cleaning his room.

Now it seemed as if he couldn't ever not get those things done. And if he were to be honest, he felt terrible afterward if he didn't complete those "jobs." It felt almost as if he was ruining all Robin's efforts.

So that was why he cleaned up his room. That's why he tiptoed past his parents' room, that's why he laid a simple breakfast out for them, set up the coffee machine, and that's why, while he set a beer down by his father's plate with shaky hands, he had fewer bruises to hide.

0o0o0o0

It was sunny. Wally was sitting in his calculus class, his face tired with bags underneath his face. They, (they being the Team) had a mission last night, and it lasted until one in the morning, in which he still had to study for three exams the next day.

He was almost glad that he had the nightmare because he wasn't sure if he would have awoken to his alarm clock that morning. Almost.

He was staring out the window, watching the birds chirp and fly in circles around one another. They sounded happy, which made him happy in a way, too. It was pretty saddening, really, after Robin's disappearance.

Not death.

It seemed as if every bird in the world was suddenly acting out of character.

Wally thought that he was going insane, and his uncle thought so too; if it wasn't for the fact that there were a few reports all over the world saying the same thing, then the redhead would've probably been put into an insane asylum.

When it was released into the public that Robin had died—or at least, was gone—people clamored for more about the hypothesis that perhaps the birds were solemn for the fact that one of their own kind had died.

Wally, much to the surprise of the League, (who thought that perhaps he would join protesters for a day to be reserved just for the young hero) totally threw that idea out the window and stomped on it.

He couldn't—or rather, wouldn't—believe that entire populations of birds would all become emo because a human who dressed in bright colors and a poor representation of an actual robin died.

So, after indulging himself in some evidence, he found an even creepier hypothesis—the birds reacted differently to all the people who were there during the accident. And it was true; really, it was. And it was freaking creepy.

So imagine his surprise when the birds, robins nonetheless, were chirping away. Huh. He'd have to look into that. After lunch. And after school. When he could eat to his stomach's content. (Because, you know, it can't be to his heart's content, 'cause he's dead? Ha! Ha? Ha... I need to stop.)

Despite his long thought process the teacher still hadn't noticed that he was dozing off and thinking about his probably-dead friend instead of math equations. Hey, the list said to study for the tests, it never said anything about paying attention in class.

Which, he was perfectly fine with. He would get around a B in most classes (except for chemistry), which was good enough for him. Not enough to make him stand out, but high enough so he wouldn't get in trouble. It was better than before, with his outstanding Cs. That was fun to explain to his parents.

He would be lying if he said it went along the lines of, "Hey Dad! Great news! I got Cs on every one of my subjects except for my A in chemistry! But don't worry! Who needs to be smart in this world when all you have to do is write fanfictions to become popular!"

(My colleague is not amused by my jokes.)

"Mr. West!" came the voice of his teacher. His head shot forwards, and he stared at the teacher with wide eyes. She was smirking, almost as if she knew that he wasn't paying attention in class.

'Oh great, just kill me now... again.'

"Tell me this, if you may so kindly do so. What is the-" She was cut off by the bell, and she set her jaw in frustration.

'Ha,' Wally thought. 'Not this time, you insane math teacher! Catch me if you can, I'm the gingerbread man!'

One of these days he was so going to get killed. He spoke his thoughts sometimes a little too often.

As the redhead walked down the hallways, he got lost in his thoughts again, which wasn't a surprise. It was lunch now, and while he enjoyed it very much, he also enjoyed the quietness of his school when there weren't any kids around.

He stopped in front of a long row of windows, looking outside at the feathered animals. They were beautiful, really. He placed his hands on the windowsill, the crappy building job resulting in frost crawling in through the cracks. It made his hands unbearably cold, but he didn't mind.

'Wait one second... frost already?' Wally thought again, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't such a surprise that it was already cold enough in August, though it was extremely rare. But frost would have indicated it time for the birds to start migrating...

So either some bad guy with frost abilities was coming to attack the school, or it was the birds. Wally thought about how they were reacting this morning and shook his head.

Something else was up.

He retracted his hands and buried them deep in his pockets, walking off to the lunchroom, deep in thought.