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It was the fourth of July again, Wally registered dimly through the aching pain of the wound at his side.
Funny how years worked. Holidays just kept coming up again and again. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend the flashing lights behind his eyelids were fireworks. Shame he was missing the real ones.
Dick wouldn’t be home. He always went to his family’s, or to the Titans during the fourth. Wally normally joined him, to both.
Instead, Wally would be spending this fourth bleeding out, and maybe dying, if he was lucky enough, on his kind-of-but-not-really-ex-boyfriend’s couch, in the dark.
God, the dark. How he had mixed fucking feelings about the dark. He barely had the energy to be annoyed anymore – he was tired. He was tired, injured, his heart and head and his fucking sides really hurt, and whenever he could force his eyes open, it was just shadows.
It was strangely comforting, being in the dark. Sure, he knew there was a wound in his side, torn through his skin by… someone or other, he couldn’t fucking remember, but he didn’t have to see it. He could just sit here, in the silent dark, and die in some semblance of peace.
The lines in the dark of their Dick’s living room would’ve brought him genuine comfort once, the soft shadows cast by the heavy curtains over the windows, the gentle almost-quiet of Blüdhaven’s muffled noises blocked out from the apartment, and the careful atmosphere of someone living here – the sense that Dick had just popped out, he’d be back any moment, flinging himself over the couch dramatically and digging his elbow into Wally’s stomach and he’d complain and he’d laugh his wonderful evil sounding cackle that was somehow so warm – it all fell over him like a blanket, old mixing with new, the metallic smell of his own blood mixing with the real, soft smell of the apartment.
And he couldn’t help but think; well, wow. This wouldn’t be such a terrible place to die. Not ideal. But he could live with it.
He would’ve liked to tell Dick he loved him one last time. Apologise maybe, for getting all tangled up in that evil business and running off without a warning or even a goodbye. And breaking his window to get in and leaving blood all over the couch.
Wally laughed a tiny bit to himself, but the small movement sent pain flaring up his side like a rocket, the pain sending his laugh into a choked wheeze. He had his chance, he supposed. A few nights ago, seeing him on that rooftop, bathed in sapphire blue from a neon sign. God. He’d been beautiful then, looking like pure devastation and heartbroken anger. He was beautiful all the time, but there was something special about Dick Grayson and the look in his eye when he was angry about something. Genuinely angry, less fire and more like pure ice, or a roaring ocean. He was a little scary when he was genuinely furious, because there was no heat to it, and Wally loved every second of it.
“You’ve ruined the colour blue for me.” What a shit line to end it all with, huh? That and a quick kiss to the cheek at a million miles per hour – that wasn’t a goodbye Dick Grayson deserved, and yet, that was the best Wally could give.
Well. Unless Dick would like his dead body in the dark as a goodbye present. Maybe he could write “I’m sorry” in his own blood on the carpet before he was fully gone.
Now he really was talking crazy. That was legit straight out of a horror movie. Ah well, he was never the best on the fourth. The fireworks and too many unfamiliar people always sent him a little over the wrong end of too much, and he got overwhelmed. It was better with Dick, because he understood, and he’d never grown up celebrating the fourth, always bouncing back and forth across Europe as well as the states. They always did the most stereotypical shit, because Dick always wanted to, and it was somehow always better that way.
Wally forced his eyelids open again – when had he closed them? – and stared out at the web of shadows that decorated the apartment. Somewhere, far away, there was the distant bang and fizz of a firework, and blue light exploded across the floor in a straight line, held back by a door left ajar. Ah, fireworks. The only part of this stupid holiday he’d ever liked.
God, this was going down as the second worst fourth of July he’d ever had. A close second to the one he had when he was eight, and accidentally set his jeans on fire. This might even rival it in terms of sheer embarrassment.
Just as he let his eyes slip shut and resigned himself to letting the dull ache in his abdomen force him under, there was a soft sound. Metal clacking against metal, a door unlocking, and oh shit, that wasn’t the neighbours.
Dick opened the door, broken glass crunched under his feet and into the carpet. Wally winced at the sound. Breaking the window to get into his old apartment for some semblance of comfort as he felt his life slipping away – yeah, not his best move, but he’d been fresh out of any of those lately.
“What the…” Dick said softly, and the sound of his voice sent about a thousand different explosions off in Wally. He was fizzing from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, like a sparkler had drawn his shape out in the shadows, and he was just there to fill it out. Good lord, he’d missed Dick. It felt like an open wound, the way it ached. Like a part of him was missing. And he had an open wound right now, he should know!
Dick walked through the apartment, and Wally hoped he would… what? Ignore him? Not notice him? Leave? Yeah, yeah, leaving seemed like the best thing Dick could do right now.
Another explosion went off outside, and Wally looked up to see Dick’s face painted in golden light. Through his messy, winding thoughts, he managed to force a smile.
“Wow, angels look better than I thought.” He wheezed, privately trying not to laugh. Because, wow, he was literally about to die, and here was Dick. Coming to his rescue, as per usual.
Although, Wally realised, as Dick’s eyes widened in – fear? Horror? Sympathy? Anger? – and the golden light faded, leaving the apartment in darkness yet again, he wasn’t exactly deserving of rescue at the moment. He wasn’t exactly at his prettiest right now either, so considering himself a damsel was purely out of the question. He’d broken into another man’s house to die. Kind-of-but-not-really-ex-boyfriend or not, that was just rude.
That, and abandoning him, and becoming a villain, and about a million other failings. Good god, he wanted Dick to hold his hand right now. That was all he needed. No apologies, no kisses, no medical attention. He didn’t even need to see him – hell, Dick could break his hand, as far as he cared. He just…
It was the casual affection, he’d missed. The shoulder bumps as they passed each other in the small rooms of their apartment, the way Dick would reach up to correct – or mess up – his hair before they left, the way he could put his hand on Dick’s back for reassurance. He hadn’t touched anyone at all in months. He felt starving for it, a little like he was going insane, like a man left in the dark with no light.
He almost wanted to laugh at the irony.
“Angels? What do–” Dick began, before yet another firework lit the room up scarlet. His expression hardened, in the crimson light, and he muttered something under his breath. It was hard to tell what – Wally’s ears were starting to ring really loudly. That probably wasn’t good.
“Oh, hell no, you’re not dying on me.” He swore – and it was sworn, he said it into the air like an oath taken, and god fucking dammit Wally was in love with him. He was so in love with him.
“Di–” he began, before the warm presence of Dick disappeared into the swirling dark. Was the room actually spinning? Or was it just –
The lights flicked on, and Wally couldn’t stop the little moan of pain that escaped him. Ow, that was bright. And it hurt. It hurt like his side and his head and his heart and for the love of all that might’ve been holy and damned, days ending in y, and every breath he’d ever taken – could Dick please hold his hand?
Dick’s face floated back into view, and wow, what a sight. In civvies, with his long-ish hair pushed back and falling into curls from the wind outside. He looked tired and haggard, and would he mind if Wally leaned in to kiss him right now? Probably. Best not to risk it. He doubted he could deal with being slapped as well as… everything else.
“You’re not dying on me.” Dick said, no, promised, knelt down in front of the couch, staring right into his eyes. Another firework exploded outside and fizzled out in the time it took for Wally to swallow any sort of resistance he might’ve had and nodded. He wasn’t sure if he really believed Dick
“Okay, abdomen wound, you look like you’ve lost way too much blood…” Dick muttered, and Wally could feel his heart slowing down, and the world was starting to blur at the edges. Aw hell, might as well say his goodbyes now.
“Hey.” He croaked out, gesturing for Dick to come closer. Dick paused, he hesitated, and Wally felt his heart break all over again. Dick would never hesitate. That was the problem both of them had – they never hesitated. Not once. Not when it came to each other.
And Dick hesitated.
He supposed it was all he deserved. But still. That stung more than any wound he’d gotten recently.
Dick walked over to him slowly, and when Wally reached out with a clumsy, fumbling hand, he took it slowly. Wally wasn’t fucking dying without at least saying goodbye.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” he began, and oh hell, when was breathing this hard? “for…” he trailed off, and tried to wave his hand in the air, and winced. Dick was silent, letting him talk. It was a little less painful than the bleeding in his side. Another firework went off, with a flash of blue against the wall. “You don’t have to forgive me.”
“You’ve ruined the colour blue for me.” That he sure had. Because blue belonged to exactly no one else anymore. It was Dick’s alone – blue was Dick’s colour, and it was everywhere, and it always screamed at him that he had messed up. That he needed to go home and beg for forgiveness immediately – he wouldn’t ever see blue without thinking of Dick. And he couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing anymore.
It was still his favourite colour, if that even meant anything at all.
“You’re… you don’t need to say you’re sorry.” Dick said, his hand reaching out to touch Wally’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Wally could’ve sobbed right there. He might’ve and not even realised – his vision was warped enough as it was.
“But I am.” Wally insisted, and he could hear how weak his own voice was and hated it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything ever and I’m sorry I didn’t say this sooner and–” he paused, heaving in air and trying to not cry out at the pain in his side. “I’m sorry I’m a shit boyfriend.”
Dick smiled, and he wanted to cry. Dick smiled at him. “You’re not that shit of a boyfriend. There’ve been worse.” And it sounded like forgiveness and love and fuck, fuck, he was definitely crying now. Lying on the couch, bleeding out, fireworks lighting the room up red-blue-gold, with his kind-of-but-really-not-really-ex-boyfriend holding onto his hand after he broke in, fucking crying.
“You really must’ve missed me,” Wally sniffed. “you’re being too nice.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “You have no idea. I’ve called Alf and B – they’ll be here any moment and we can get you patched up. It’ll… it’ll be okay.”
He moved to wipe at his eyes, but any movement whatsoever left him inhaling sharply and more tears, so he let them be. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell you wanna punch me.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Dick said, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, but it lacked the usual warmth Wally could feel bleeding through it. “But I’m gonna wait until you’re not dying.”
Wally wheezed, whether in pain or in laughter, he didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care anymore.
“What did I just say about lying?” he asked. “But, hey, for what it’s worth. I still like you.” He muttered, black spots dancing in his vision. “After… everything…”
“Walls? Hey, Walls?”
What was it with Wally West and finding comfort in the dark?