Chapter Text
(1)
It's before there’s a team, or a cave, or anything. It’s just Dick and Wally and Kaldur. Roy is stuck at a gala with Green Arrow, something he made sure to voice his frustration over at length when he declined the invite to patrol. Roy has such a colorful vocabulary sometimes he can make even a gothamite like Dick blush.
Speaking of blushing .
Kaldur is toned. Not toned like Wally, who's skin and bones but pinches his arms to brag about a lump that could just as likely be a tumor as it is muscle. No, Kaldur is toned like he’s got honest to god abs. So Dick can’t help but look . It’s not weird, after all. He’s only seen Kaldur up close like this a few times, Aquaman’s been pretty over protective. It makes sense he’d be curious.
That’s all it is.
The three of them crouch on a rooftop, a clear view of their makeshift target. A weapons dealer, maybe. They’re basically stalking him to pass the time. Kaldur stretches, arms over his head, and his joints audibly crack.
“Christ,” Wally says. “It sounds like you just snapped your own neck.”
Kaldur just rolls his shoulders again. “Sorry. Stiff.”
Dick looks. Kaldur's tattoos, strange but intriguing, the taut line of his jaw, his eyes--oh. Kaldur stares blankly back at Dick. Dick’s been caught .
Dick’s gone redder than Wally’s hair. Kaldur, though, has an expression to rival stone. His cool blue eyes flicker with confusion. “Can I assist you with something?”
He’s oblivious, thank god. “Keep your eyes on the target.”
Kaldur merely nods once and obeys. Dick can get away with little things like this, in the beginning. Kaldur is a fish out of water and Wally is still a bit star struck about the whole boy wonder thing, which is how it should be. Dick’s been doing the whole shadowy justice bit since he was nine. He’s practically a sidekick veteran. The only one that challenges him is Roy, really, and thankfully Roy isn’t here.
Dick decides to take his own advice. He keeps his eyes on the man they're shadowing until Bruce calls curfew.
(2)
The beach is secluded, which is the only reason Dick ends up outside at all. That, and Wally’s incessant tug on his arm. “You know you wanna get tan,” Wally says, sing song. “Soak up a few rays with us!”
‘Us’ being Kaldur, M’gann, Superboy and Wally. Dick’s carefully ducked out of any beach invites before now, but for some reason today he’s been ambushed.
“What would you know about getting tan?” Dick shoots back. “You’re white as sour cream. Your skin peels off like a banana when you’re in the sun too long.”
Kaldur cringes. “Not a pleasant visual, Robin.”
M’gann’s eyes widen. “Humans shed their skin?”
“Dude,” Wally whines. He slings an arm around Dick’s shoulder and leans into his ear. “I need you to be my wingman. Not make Megan think I’m a snake-person.”
Wally’s words are hot against his ear. There’s nothing Dick’s wanted less in, possibly, his life, than to play wingman for Wally so he can make Megan politely bewildered for a few hours. So, Dick says, “Nope, busy.”
“Aw, doing what?”
“Stuff.”
“Conner,” Kaldur says, ignoring the back and forth between Dick and Wally. “Do you have a swim suit?”
“No,” Conner says. “I’ll just go like this.”
Wally pauses mid-plea, still leaned across Dick’s shoulder. “You’re gonna get your clothes wet.”
Conner considers this. Then, in one swift motion, he tugs his shirt over his head.
M’gann practically drools and the temperature of the room goes up at least ten degrees. Wally says, “Oh.”
Conner is built like a supermodel. No, Conner puts supermodels to shame . Even Kaldur’s eyes are on him. Though, he only barely registers the attention. “Robin,” he says, and Dick starts. Is Superboy going to call him out for oogling? Only, no. Superboy says, “Can we just go?”
Dick says, “Okay,” in a smaller voice than he would have liked. They start towards the beach exit, Dick and Wally lag a bit behind. Then, Wally punches his shoulder. Dick blinks, a bit taken aback and clamps down on his impulse to go for the throat until he’s immobile. It’s just Wally. So Dick rubs his shoulder and says, “Ow.”
Wally leans close again, but this time he’s furious and his words are slurred together in a flurry of embarrassment. “When I ask it’s all, nope busy, but when Superboy asks it’s all, oh yeah Superboy totally let’s go, just because you have a deep voice and big muscles and are super hot .”
Dick doesn’t know what to say until they get onto the beach. He kicks off his shoes to feel the sand under his toes. Wally still sulks next to him, refuses to run into the water like Kaldur and M’gann do. Superboy gets his boots off after a moment’s struggle and wades into the water with them.
Finally, Dick says, “So you think Superboy’s super hot ?”
Wally frowns. He glances sideways at Dick. “That wasn’t my point. But I mean, objectively…”
“Objectively,” Dick agrees.
“I’m not blind,” Wally says, and leaves it at that.
Dick shrugs and digs a tube of sunscreen out of his pocket. He rubs a bit on the back of his neck, because he might not be as pale as Wally but Happy Harbor’s sun beats down like a brick oven on any skin tone.
Wally says, “I’m gonna go over there and play shoulder wars with Megan.”
Dick rolls his eyes. “Who's gonna be the other team? Superboy and Kaldur?”
“Duh?”
“Supey’s cool and all but don’t you think he might, I don’t know, accidentally break all of the bones in your body?”
Wally rubs his chin. “Fair point, but we do what we must in pursuit of hot chicks. Do me.”
“What?”
“Do me.” Wally turns his back to Dick, impatient. “You’re right, I burn like the wrong toaster setting. It’s not cute.”
“I know I’m right,” Dick says, distractedly. He takes the bottle and empties more than half into his palm. Wasteful.
“C’mon, Megan’s waiting for me.”
Dick doesn’t have the heart to say, she’s really not. He spares a glance. Her and Kaldur splash each other with wide grins, Conner caught between them. Dick rubs his open hand against Wally’s neck and shoulders. He pretends like he can’t feel the shape of Wally’s shoulder blades and the way he shivers at the cool touch. His skin is freckled and warm.
“Robin,” Wally says, but Dick wipes his hand on his own jeans and steps back.
“Megan’s waiting for you,” Dick parrots, a bit mocking. “I’ll be making a sand castle over here, thanks.”
Wally sticks his tongue out. “Have fun in sand land. By the way, I’m so getting a new wing man.”
“Good,” Dick says, but Wally’s already zipped off in that annoying way he does. The worst thing about your best friend having super speed--you never get the last word.
(3)
Bruce’s been gone for a few days, which Dick would usually consider himself too old to be upset about. Sure, when he first got here and he was 9 and Bruce would just never be around with seemingly no reason behind it, he’d feel bad. But now he knows about the double life Bruce leads, that they both lead. So it doesn’t make sense how he feels...neglected.
But then again, it sort of does make sense. Because while Bruce definitely isn’t his parent or anything, has never made Dick call him “dad”, Bruce is the closest thing he’s got.
And Dick is in the middle of a crisis.
Wally saying Superboy was hot at the beach weeks ago sort of helped to soothe inner concerns Dick gathered from realizing his eyes lingered too closely on dudes to be normal. Noticing guys in passing couldn’t be so bad. Until, it stopped being a in passing sort of thing. That's when Dick started to panic. Just a little.
Anyway, by dinner Bruce is home. Though, his face is in a magazine--the sort of gossip rag he usually dismisses with a distasteful curl of the lip. Plastered across the cover is a candid photo of two heroes, two men , and Dick feels the blood drain from his face.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred says as he brings in some lamb and places it on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “Must you bring your work to the table? Such unsavory work, to the point.”
Bruce reluctantly closes the magazine and sets it aside. “Sorry, Alfred. A tough case.” He glances up at Dick, who starts a bit at the sudden eye contact. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Dick replies, a bit more quick than could be normal. “Um, what are you working on? The case, I mean. That would make you need to study...that?”
Bruce takes a piece of lamb and drops it unceremoniously on his plate. “A slew of heroes are being blackmailed. When they don’t comply to the anonymous requests... intimate details about them are sent into magazines like those,” he nods to the one beside him, “and the papers.”
“Oh,” Dick says, and he feels suddenly lightheaded. He fidgets a little, with his fork. Alfred brings a basket of rolls. “I guess I didn’t realize there were so many.” His eyes trail to the cover of the magazine. The two men caught in an embrace. His heart pounds.
Bruce seems too distracted to pick up on Dick’s hesitation. “Homosexual superheroes? Yes, quite a few, and most of them none too keen on their leanings being released to the public.”
Dick takes a roll, but doesn’t do anything but break it apart with his hands. “Why? I mean, if they already have a secret identity?”
“People are ashamed of it,” is what Bruce says, offhandedly, and he flips open the mag again after Alfred leaves the room. “This sort of disgusting thing ruins careers. Lives. It’s best to stop it as soon as it starts, but they let it go on so long. Now I have to clean up the mess.”
Dick, to his credit, doesn’t flip out immediately. There’s a long silence and a sinking feeling in the pit of Dick’s stomach. His fingers twitch, almost thrum, thoughtless movements. Dick thinks he might be ill.
He doesn’t know why he’d expect different, really. Bruce’s opinions definitely lean more liberal, but most people are disgusted by something like this. Dick just feels stupid that he’d thought of going to Bruce at all to talk about it. Thought he needed to talk to Bruce.
Bruce is seemingly oblivious to Dick’s internal horror. His eyes cross the page he reads, quick and every now and again a glance to the door to make sure Alfred isn’t on the way in to scold him. Dick crosses his arms, digs his fingernails into his elbows. He feels almost angry, for no reason at all. Bruce is right. It’s wrong, and from now on Dick will just have to try harder to be normal and--
“Dick?” Dick looks up. Bruce has set the magazine aside again, and studies Dick with a curious expression--edged with confusion. “You’re upset.” It’s not a question. “Why?”
Dick stands, so inexplicably violently that his chair makes a loud squeak from being slid sharply across the hardwood floor. “I told you, I’m fine .”
Bruce only raises an eyebrow. “Your tone conveys otherwise.”
“No, I think my tone is conveying that I’m really super not in the mood to be analyzed right now , o great detective.” With that, Dick stalks off. He bumps right into Alfred on the way out of the room, offers only a hasty apology before he flees up the stairs.
(4)
Robin the computer says, when he steps into the cave. He doesn’t know why he’s here, exactly. It’s so late Wally has probably gone home. Artemis barely ever shows up on weekdays. Kaldur might be around. Maybe he’ll want to spar.
“Robin!” M’gann hovers into the room, eyes bright. “I thought I heard you come in.” She frowns. “But we haven’t heard anything about another mission yet?”
“Nah,” Dick says. “I...you want to hang out?”
Her frown spreads into a genuine grin, shows all her pretty teeth. She’s beautiful. No wonder Wally is obsessed with her. “Awesome!” she says. “Conner and I were watching TV.” Her eyelashes flutter a bit when she says Conner. Bless Wally’s heart, he doesn’t stand a chance. “Want to join us?”
“Sure.”
M’gann leads him into the makeshift living room where Conner sits on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. He’s doing that weird thing where he watches the static channels again. Really, the boy is right out of a horror movie.
“Conner,” M’gann says. “Robin’s--”
“I know.” Conner says. He moves over on the couch, doesn’t even look up.
M’gann’s expression deflates a little and Dick doesn’t know why until he sits down, and realizes he’s literally come between the two of them. Conner on one side, M’gann on the other.
Dick feels almost bad for interrupting her play like this. “Can we watch something else?”
Conner looks over at him. “I guess.” He picks up the remote, albeit reluctantly. He flips the channel a few times, and stops on the E! Network.
There’s a blonde woman with a tight smile and an abundance of eye shadow, her voice squeaks out about how scandalous and torrid of a story she has, then images flash across the screen. The same images on the magazine Bruce was reading at dinner.
Embarrassment mingled with agony crawls up his throat and Dick sort of grabs the remote out of Conner’s hands to change the channel. He laughs a little, but it sounds hollow even to his own ears. “ That’s disgusting.” He doesn’t know why he says it. Okay, he knows exactly why he says it. He needs to hear it out loud. Get it through his own head. Neither of the other two say anything until Dick stops the channel on a romance movie he’s seen a dozen times.
M’gann looks comically confused. “I thought you said that was gross?”
Dick says, “No I didn’t.”
She blushes a little. “You just said kissing was gross, when the people in those pictures were doing it.”
“Oh,” Dick says, because--she’s an alien. “No, I meant.” He looks to Superboy for help, but Conner has that blank expression where it's impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “When it’s two, men.”
M’gann stares at him. “That’s bad?” She fidgets. “In the earth shows I’ve seen, the couple is always a boy and a girl, but I didn’t know two of the same kind was bad .”
Guilt snakes up in Dick’s stomach. He feels worse than dirt. He’d expected M’gann and Superboy to agree and laugh along with him, but all he’s doing is teaching them homophobia. “It’s…” God, he wishes he’d never said anything about it. “It’s just wrong. Okay?” he offers, hopeful she’ll leave it at that.
She does. Dick’s relief is short lived, though, because Superboy cuts through the silence with a loud, “Why?”
“What?”
Superboy makes a frustrated noise. “Why is it wrong?”
“Because…” Because, because, because . He looks at the TV, as if it’ll offer any explanation. The rugged protagonist swoons the lady in his arms. He tells her she’s gorgeous, that he could map the freckles across her skin. Dick can’t help but think of Wally’s shoulders, and the curve of his mouth.
“Robin,” M’gann says, softly, and Dick remembers she’s an empath and a telepath and a dozen other invasive things. He thinks, very viciously, get out of my head , but nothing in her face shows she was ever in there to begin with, so he feels stupid.
He sinks into the cushions. “Honestly, forget the whole thing. I shouldn’t have said it.” He turns up the volume on the movie, a signal to drop it that they thankfully take. It’s painfully awkward for a bit, but soon the tension lifts and it feels sort of normal between them again.
(5)
A few days later, Bruce comes into his room when he’s in the middle of homework.
“I’m almost done,” Dick says, unthinkingly. “Then we can go.” He’d made Bruce swear not to leave for patrol without him tonight.
Bruce sits down on the edge of his bed and doesn't say anything for a moment.
Dick looks up. “What is it?”
“You and I should talk.”
“About?”
Bruce folds his hands. “I’ve been putting this off, but you just started high school and with the age of the Internet...anyway. Now is a time in your life when you’re going to be experiencing a lot of changes and urges. I want to make sure you’re prepared for--”
“Wow,” Dick says. “Oh, my god. Stop.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Dick is mortified. “I’m not embarrassed. But we don’t need to talk about…” He sighs through his nose, eyes trained on the papers across his bedspread. “My mom, I mean, already...we talked about that.”
“I realized that might be the case,” Bruce says, and he sounds so clinical. “But the talk you give to a nine year old isn’t the same type of talk you give to a fourteen year old. I’m sure there’s a lot of things about your body you still don’t know about--”
“Please stop talking. No offense, but my nickname is literally Dick. What exactly is it do you think I haven’t heard about by now?”
Bruce does not smile. “Hearing about sex from other children is exactly why I want to talk to you directly. I don’t want you to make a mistake or do anything dangerous based on information from someone else who may or may not know what they’re talking about.”
“Bruce, it was a joke. And what-- dangerous --” Dick cards a hand through his hair. “Can we do this later? Or, preferably, never?”
More silence. Dick raises his eyes, but Bruce’s face is still infuriatingly open and impartial. “I’m not going to make you talk about it now if you’re uncomfortable. But before you try anything with anyone, I hope you’ll come to me if you have any questions. Understand?”
Dick can feel the heat in his face. He’d face down Vandal Savage, Mammoth and Blockbuster all at once if it’d get him out of this moment. “Okay, okay! Before I...try, anything, with a girl, I’ll come talk to you.”
There’s something in Bruce’s face. “That’s not what I said.”
Dick blinks. Once, twice. “Uh.”
“Before you try anything with anyone ,” is what Bruce says, and Dick feels the word smash over his head like a plate.
“What,” Dick manages. “Are you talking about?”
Bruce barely notices. “I’m not going to act like I’m an expert on everything , especially between two men, but I’ll answer your questions the best I can. If you want a second opinion, I’m sure Alfred or Dr. Thompson could--”
Again, Dick says, “What are you talking about?”
“I’d rather you talk to an actual adult instead of going to a peer or the Internet, at any rate, especially not the Internet--”
“Bruce,” Dick cuts in, urgent and shrill. “Listen to me!”
Bruce’s mouth closes. Then it opens. “Yes?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand…?” Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“You said.” Dick turns away, because his head is swimming. “You said it was disgusting . Two guys...you said...but now...I don’t understand.”
“What?” Bruce mirrors Dick’s confusion. “What would make you say that?”
He faces Bruce again, hands balled into fists at his sides. “No, you. You said--” His stomach twists painfully. “ This sort of disgusting thing ruins careers. Lives. It’s best to stop it as soon as it starts, but they let it go on so long .” It’s easy to call onto the words that have been on repeat in his head since he heard them.
“Dick,” Bruce says, and he looks so taken aback and so sad. “I meant blackmail. Blackmail ruins lives. The heroes let themselves be strung along by it for months before any of them sought help.”
“Oh.” Dick trembles all over, and he wonders if Bruce can see.
There’s another long pause. “Is that why you were upset, that day? Because you thought I meant--”
“It’s what it sounded like you meant,” Dick says, defensively.
Bruce is still so calm . “I know. I should have been more clear.”
The adrenaline is still in Dick’s veins. He wants to believe, but he has to be sure-- “So, you don’t think…”
“No, I don’t think being gay is disgusting. I would never say that.”
“Oh, okay,” Dick says. There’s this pressure behind his eyes that he doesn’t notice until it’s unbearable and his throat is dry. “No big deal. I misunderstood. My bad.”
“You did misunderstand,” Bruce says. “But that’s my fault.”
“It doesn’t matter.” But his voice shakes. He ducks his head sharply because no , no. His vision blurs and his breaths come out in a rattle. “It’s,” he chokes, and he feels his face twist up even though he tries to fight it. Dick thinks he might break into a million pieces and almost as if on cue to the thought there’s arms around him, pulling him back together.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmurs, a sound muffled against the top of Dick’s head.
Dick tries to will himself calm, still, tries to remember one of the dozen meditation techniques he learned but they all slip through his fingers before he can materialize them in his brain. He opens his mouth to say he’s fine, but what tumbles out is, “I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought you’d hate me.” He cries in earnest, now. He presses his face into Bruce’s shoulder, face red with shame, and feels like he’s 9 again. Like he’s just lost everything and there’s Bruce with a grim smile, to tell him it’ll never get any easier but he’s going to be okay.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Bruce says, and the words wash over like cool water. “Dick. Breathe.”
Dick does. Slowly.
Dick hears his door swing open from somewhere behind them. “Sir, Lucius is on the line and he insists that it’s of utmost impor--oh.” Dick feels Bruce’s arms tighten around him. Alfred falters for a moment. “My apologies. I’ll request he call back later.”
“Don’t. I’ll be right there, Alfred.”
“If you say so, sir.” The door swings shut.
Bruce slowly pulls back, and Dick raises his head from Bruce’s shoulder. Dick looks down at his own lap, to avoid Bruce’s gaze. “Sorry I got snot all over you.”
“Don’t apologize. But this...” He waves a hand. “Can’t happen again.”
Dick sucks in a sharp breath. “I know, I’m too old to be--”
Bruce sighs. “ No . I meant dealing with things like this all on your own. Bottling it up.”
Dick bursts out into a fit of watery laughter. He clutches uselessly at his stomach, looks up at Bruce to find the man not in the least bit amused. “It’s just,” Dick manages, between gasps, “ you of all people telling me not to bottle things up.”
It takes a moment, but Bruce’s mouth quirks up a bit in a hint of a smile. “Fair point.” The smile fades, and Bruce stands. “We’ll talk more later.”
Dick winces. He’s still not looking forward to it, even after what just happened. “Yeah. Um.” Bruce’s hand is on the doorknob. “Bruce?”
He turns. “I have to take that c--”
The flying Grayson he is, Dick is across the room in an instant. Bruce’s hands come up raised, a natural impulse to strike at sudden movements. Of course, the blow never lands. Dick collides into Bruce with a soft thud, and it's less of a hug and more of clinging for dear life.
“Thank you, Bruce,” Dick says, and he wishes he could get it together and stop crying. This is just pathetic. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
…
Bruce doesn’t talk to him more later, because Bruce gets swept up in the case he’s working and is gone for nearly a week. That's okay. Dick feels the guilt, only it’s lighter. Easier to fight, somehow, when he has Bruce’s lingering words in his head: there’s nothing wrong with you .
But it doesn’t make the words out of his own mouth go away. That’s disgusting .
So. He decides he won’t think about any of it. If he shelves it all away and throws himself into the heat of battle, throws himself into Robin , then he won’t have to deal with feeling any of those complicated things.
(6)
It works, for a while. It’s hard to care about feeling wrong when you’re a misstep from falling to your death, or being impaled, or drowned, or anything else that happens to Robin on a near daily basis. At school, there’s Babs. She’s hilarious and sharp tongued and they hang out a few times. It’s easy to have a crush on a girl like her, so Dick convinces himself he does. It’s great, honestly. Dick thinks, there , because if there’s anything Bruce-- Batman --has taught him, it’s that you feel what you want to feel. Dick wants to feel normal.
Then, Wally screws everything up .
They hang out in the cave, sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV. Everyone else kind of does their own thing on days where there's a moment to breathe. Today, Wally brings this amazing game Dick just has to play. It’s basically a multiplayer shooter with parodies of heroes.
To be honest, Dick couldn’t care less about video games. Once you’ve fought the monsters in real life, fake ones lose the excitement. Wally, though--
“What the hell, that’s not even allowed, he totally just cheated! I’m on your team, don’t shoot at me ! Is anyone else actually going after the payload?”
Wally gets into it.
Dick kills a few people on his own team just to hear Wally sputter. “It takes forever to respawn, why are you killing your own team?”
Dick shrugs. “I consider myself a chaotic neutral.”
“Rob, we are literally superheroes,” Wally says. “We are both definitely lawful good.” Wally’s controller vibrates. “Augh, you moron , why would you set off Uberman’s uber ray around your own team?”
Uberman's uber ray. Dick laughs. This game is really dumb. “ Who are you yelling to? You don’t even have your headset on.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t have yours on either!”
“I never play with mine on.” It’s true. The concept has just never interested Dick. The few times Wally has brought a game like this and insisted the multiplayer is better with talking, Dick sort of lets his hang limply around his neck
Wally yelps. He was caught in a big enough blast to tear his character limb from limb. He drops his controller into his lap, irritated. It takes a minute to respawn, not forever by any means, but it probably feels like forever to a speedster. “Okay, I’ll turn mine on if you turn yours on.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“You’re right,” Wally chirps back, almost immediately. “You’ve gotta be at least twelve to be on there anyways, so…”
Dick glares at him. “You’re so immature, KF. You’re like a kid, double dog daring me.” He takes the headset off the floor and places it around his ears, flips the switch on. He’s linked up to the chat, annoyed at himself for rising to Wally’s obvious bait. Wally does this to him. Dick always wants to prove he’s old enough, good enough, and it makes no sense because why should he care about any of that? He was ten when he first faced the Joker, screamed at Two Face he wasn’t afraid, and he’s worried about if Wally thinks he’s grown up?
Wally grins, lopsided, as he clicks his own headset into place.
It’s stupid. The other guys in the chat take a minute to complain about Dick, who murdered their characters and made them restart from the checkpoint. Wally yells at them for abandoning the payload to try and get play of the game.
Dick doesn’t say anything but, “It’s just a game.” As if to punctuate the statement, he takes out another one of his party members. Which, naturally, makes everyone furious. His own team ends up making it a mission to take Dick out before he ruins the game, something that even has Wally in stitches.
“You’re terrible,” Wally says incredulously, tears at the corners of his eyes from how hard he laughs. “These people are gonna track you down and murder you.”
“If they can catch me,” Dick replies, mouth quirked up. There’s a warmth that settles in his chest at the sight of Wally, grin on his face. Dick can feel the pulse under his own skin when Wally looks at him with eyes full of wonder. Wally looks at Dick like it’s just the two of them, times like this, no game or cave or Happy Harbor, just them laughing together as the sum of the universe. Dick sucks up the attention like a sponge.
Dick kills the medic. Then, all hell breaks loose.
The headset explodes, each of his party trying to yell over each other, mostly yelling at Dick, some people sounding genuinely like Dick ruined their whole lives. It’s weird, really, Dick thinks. How worked up they get over it. Like it’s real life, or like they can’t just play another course after they lose this one. And, yeah, there’s no question. Without a medic on this game, you’re pretty much guaranteed to lose.
It’s funny to Wally, which Dick realizes is the only reason why he’s done it. The only reason why he’s bothered to put any effort into this game at all. It’s funny to Dick, too. That is, until godofdeath99 gets all worked up over it. Godofdeath99 screams into his ear a series of violent threats and insults that Dick brushes off until it’s perjoratives, and one in particular--
“Cut it out,” Dick says, flatly, any mirth now gone. It’s the first he’s talked to anyone in the game, besides to laugh at them when they rage over being killed. “Seriously, shut up.”
Wally says, “Just ignore it, Rob,” with a light smirk, as if it’s some bad joke--in utter contrast to the way it feels like there’s a bowling ball on Dick’s chest--at the same time godofdeath99’s raspy voice crackles in his ear. Dick opening his mouth clued the loser in as to which word he likes the least, and now godofdeath99’s taken it upon himself to say it over and over at increasing volume.
Dick’s a child of the Internet. He knows this kind of person. Godofdeath99 feeds of any reaction, sort of like a disease. It’s dumb to take anything he says seriously. He doesn’t know anything about Dick, he’s just saying the most vile things that could come out of his mouth to get any attention. Dick knows that. So why does he still feel…
Dick rips off the headset, face red. Wally gives him a sidelong glance. “Your character--”
Dick’s fingers haven’t moved on the keys. Someone finally catches up to him and kills him, which beams him back to the checkpoint. Dick sets the controller down. “I’m bored. Let’s do something else.”
“You don’t sound bored.” Wally pauses the game, and cocks his head to the side. “You sound pissed.”
Dick turns away. “I’m not.”
Wally looks sort of, awkward. “You know not to take any of that seriously, right? That's just guy talk.”
“You don't talk like that. I don't.”
“So what?” Wally says. He scratches the back of his neck. “Those dudes say that stuff for shock factor. No use getting torn up over it.”
“I know that,” Dick says, and feels himself get more and more upset by how dismissively nonchalant Wally is. “I’m not torn up over anything.”
Wally looks unconvinced. “They don't really think you're--”
“I don't care what anyone thinks about me,” Dick says, hotly, hopes Wally wasn't going to say that horrible word.
Wally holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay okay, geez, volume.”
“Anyway,” Dick continues, fiercely, “why is it a bad thing? What if I was --”
“It'snotaboutthat,” Wally cuts in, and Dick can't stand when he does that, “they don't really mean it that way it's more of like an internet culture thing and if people didn't get offended over it and stopped making it such a big deal and what did you just say ?”
It just sort of slipped out, but… “I.” He can't back down. He locks his eyes onto Wally’s, heart in his throat. “What if I liked guys and then people say things--people say that , and make liking guys an insult?”
Wally’s mouth is a little open while Dick talks, as if poised to cut him off again, but Wally doesn't. He closes it, then opens it again. “But you don't.”
Dick flinches a little, just from Wally’s tone. That fear mingled with defiance and he gets out an equally petulant, “What?”
“You're not gay,” Wally says, amused by it all, and Dick has to tear his eyes away.
Dick’s voice drops to just above a murmur. “You don't know I'm not.”
“I do,” Wally insists, so patronizing, like this is just Dick dropping a lame hypothetical to win an argument. “I think I would know if my best friend was into that .”
Dick feels numb. He gropes for the couch behind him, to use as leverage to scramble to his feet, but there's fingers closed around his other wrist. He looks down. Wally is bewildered, and Dick feels the numbness boil over into a spike of hot lava fury. “Are you even my best friend?” he says, or maybe yells. “Because if you were you wouldn’t make me feel like shit over something I can't control !”
Wally’s eyes are saucers. “Wh--Robin, stop --”
But Dick can't stop. The dam has broke. “If you and Kaldur and Roy and Superboy and that guy in my Algebra class and you , if you didn't have that stupid look on your face all the time, if your jokes weren’t the worst, if you didn't make me rub sunscreen on you, if you didn't always have my back and hang out with me and look at me like--” It’s suddenly so hard to breathe. Dick turns around and grabs Wally by the collar, Wally who’s still grabbed his wrist and Wally with his face still twisted in an expression of shock. “You don't get to sit there and make me feel bad because this is your fault, Kid Idiot !”
Wally opens his mouth again and Dick knows, he knows whatever comes out is going to be painful and he's not going to want to hear it. Right now he never wants to hear Wally open his stupid mouth say anything, ever.
Dick thinks, his stupid mouth , and doesn't realize he's closed the gap between them until his nose has bumped Wally’s and he's kissing Wally West.
It's not great, it's barely even good. Mostly it’s terror and lightning on every nerve because it's Wally, Wally who twitches a bit but doesn't pull away. It’s not Dick’s first kiss, but it's probably the first one he's wanted so bad--ache settled deep into his bones because it's Wally . Wally who face plants at least once a mission. Who still geeks out over comics even though he's literally a superhero. Who goes off into science-y physics tangents even Dick struggles to keep up with sometimes. Wally, who makes this choked noise and Dick kisses him and then he isn't anymore. Dick pulls away and stands up, Wally’s grip on his wrist now weak and easy to tear out of. Wally sits there dumbstruck, hand raised to cover his mouth where Dick kissed him .
Dick walks away. His hands clench into fists at his sides, he doesn't know where he's going. He only knows he’ll lose his mind if he has to look at Wally for another second and be reminded of how wrong he was. You can't just feel whatever you decide to feel, because no matter how hard he tries he can't make himself want Wally any less.