The Young Justice: Animated Anonymous Fic Meme

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Prompt Post - Part Four [CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS]
yj_anon wrote in yj_anon_meme


Part two here!

Part three here!

Feel free to reprompt posts from parts one, two, three in part four once. If you do so, I'd recommend leaving a link to your fill on the original prompt, in case somebody is tracking the first thread.
Please note that you can still fill over at parts one and two- just don't prompt there! I encourage you all to go through looking for older things to fill.

Welcome to the Young Justice: Animated anonymous fic meme!

How does it work? Basically, you leave prompts, and people fill them with glorious fic. Pretty simple. Anonymity is allowed for those that feel nervous or awkward requesting or filling, but it isn't actually obligatory. Unlike a lot of memes (like kink memes) this doesn't have a particular focus beyond the fandom. Het, gen, slash, femslash, anything else you can think up? Welcome! Crack, drama, angst? Go nuts!

However, we do have some...

Rules and guidelines.

• Animated canon only, please. Crossovers are fine, so is integrating comics/etc. stuff into animated canon, but no outright Young Justice comic stuff, please.
• Be reasonable. Polite. Etc. You may be anonymous, but that is no excuse for being ridiculous.
• Likewise, be considerate in your prompting. Trigger warnings are appreciated (for content that may seriously upset people with past experience, such as rape/non-con, self harm, suicide, etc.- at the absolute least, please make it clear what the fic contains about before someone stumbles across it halfway through!), and please be careful with your wording. Memes like this often touch on some sensitive material. If you feel somebody has posted an actively offensive prompt, please either PM me or use the mod post here to bring it to my attention.
• One prompt per post, please!
• Repeat after me: Your Kink Is Not My Kink. Don't attack people's prompts because they aren't your cup of tea!
• Look, just don't wank up a storm in general. I'm sure we can all manage, right? :)

ETA: Please do not reprompt things until we reach a second part. In addition, I encourage anyone looking for things to fill to go back through previous pages. A lot of people have old prompts tracked, so your fills will still be seen!

This is the 'flat' view of the page; it shows comments in the order they're posted, rather than as threads. Makes it easier to see new fills on previous pages.

I'll look at getting a Delicious or Diigo or something-or-other archive up for filled prompts if it gets to the point we feel it'd be useful. In the meantime, have fun!

ETA: We now have a discussion post if you need one!

ETA: I need help with archiving! Also, we set up a fill post. Can you please leave links to any fic you write there. See the post for more details. Thanks!

ETA: GUYS. I am officially making the 'PM me about offensive prompts' thing obligatory. Please, I have difficulty keeping up without your wonderful help!

Incidentally, being polite includes not telling people they're being 'too sensitive' for being bothered by things. Just sayin'. This place is a safe space, in so much as I can make it one, and I don't really like the rhetoric of 'oh, if you're offended you're oversensitive' that I'm seeing in a couple places? Remember: people may have had different experiences than you that influence their view. Don't assume. :)

ETA: Since apparently it doesn't come under some of your definitions of 'civility':


I don't care if you hate that ditz M'gann, I don't care how much you think Kaldur is sooo boring, I don't care if you think Artemis is a bitch, I don't care if you want Wally to go die, I don't care how much you want Superboy to punch himself into oblivion or how bratty you think Robin is. This is not a place to ask for fic that is for nothing more or less than to satisfy said hate. We have and welcome fans of ALL CHARACTERS here, and it's just insulting and rude to tear them down.

And this is not the same as asking for a single prompt where they're AU and evil, or for a prompt where they mess up in some way, or even where they get called out on something they did if you feel it would make a good story. But come the hell on, guys.

ETA: Please see this recent post regarding certain issues we've been having. Thank you.

ETA: Are you offering anything for charity in the recent fandom auctions for relief efforts? If you are, feel free to promote/browse/etc. here!

ETA: New affilate - DC comics meme!

ETA: At several people's requests - rec post & general finding-things post!

ETA: New affilate - YJ kink meme!

ETA: Since part four seems to be going so fast- poll about the next prompt freeze!


For the next few days, until the 2nd of May, DO NOT SUBMIT ANY NEW PROMPTS. Instead, why not try filling a few? We have so many wonderful ones left unfilled. Maybe try looking a few pages back! Or a few parts back, even!

On the 2nd May, I'll post part five and prompting will resume.

Thank you! And have fun!

In-progress Delicious account.


  • 1

Wally dies in Robins arms

Got this idea from a fill I came across a while ago...

On a mission gone horribly wrong, while running from the bad guys, KF and Robin hide themselves and await rescue, while unknowingly to Robin, Kid Flash is bleeding to death from a wound to his lower back that is not healing fast enough. By the time they are found, both had snuggled up together for warmth and comfort, with Robin having fallen unconscious from a concussion and Wally dead with his arms wrapped around Robin.

Make me cry...!!... I'm craving Angst right now....
Bonus!: If Robin refuses to believe Wally is dead...

Re: Wally dies in Robins arms

T-T second ;_;

Re: Wally dies in Robins arms


Re: Wally dies in Robins arms

I'm not a big fan of angst, BUT I WANT THIS DDDD':
Please write XD

Because Your Freckles Dance (1/?)

Twisted the request a bit...'cause I kinda just skimmed the request and didn't realize it until it was too late. ;A;


Batman and I found you and Robin Batman and I found you and Robin of a small warehouse near Toronto in Canada. I knew your weaknesses better than anyone; knew that the way you still needed to watch yourself otherwise you’d trip over a rock, the way you told jokes to lighten the stress because everyone else thought about the situation too grimly. I probably taught that to you; all of the lame and corny jokes you managed to convert into your own. I taught you how to ride your bike because you were afraid of scraping your knee; I advised you to recite the periodic table in your head to calm yourself down and slow your thoughts before you could enter subjective time.

I taught you to always, always keep food in your compartments because your metabolism went haywire all the time. It only happened once—when you were eleven, a little bit after the accident and you fainted in the middle of school—dropped dead. I picked you up because your Aunt Iris was busy and your parents were AWOL. Freaked the hell out of me, Wally. You were so pale that your freckles looked like aliens crawling up your cheeks, and vulnerability that danced across your face like one of the victims I would save in the middle of the night made me hesitant to take you on as a sidekick. To train you.

You know what you did? You woke up, eyes glazing a dull, tortured hue and whined like a baby for food. Told me to get out of the room and make a big meatloaf, then ate all of it faster than I could blink.

So we decided while you trained, that you would always have food. It was the little boost; the little baton that you needed so badly so badly that made the difference between livid freckles and a ghost-white sheet. You had food that would keep you up for another eight hours, and use it if you really needed it. Pushed your limits; thought it was great.

You lay there, curled so tightly in Robin’s chest that at first I thought of you as that little ten-year-old boy Iris used to let me see. Maybe it was just coddling, for me to have a hoagie ready in my hand for you just in case you were hungry. That, right after I found out you were alright, I dug for a hoagie instead of a First-Aid Kit. Most Dads ask, ‘Are you okay?’ But that was what made me different. Every time I saw you after your missions I asked, ‘Are you hungry?’ And you said your answer.

Robin was wary and semi-incoherent when he woke up. His utility belt was completely emptied, other than something that looks suspiciously like handkerchiefs, and he bowed his head in shame once his eyes met with Batman’s.

“It wouldn’t have taken so long,” Robin said. You’re still asleep. He looked to both of us, scratched his head and ground his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce said nothing. You hadn’t stirred, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say you had your arms so tightly around Robin that he couldn’t breathe.

“You’re fine,” I said with a smirk. You two made a cute couple. Adorable, even, with your legs still tangled together. Granted you were still too young (not even old enough to drive), but I was okay with it. The way your eyes would twinkle, or the way your freckles jumped when you saw him, I wasn’t surprised. Maybe Bruce was a little angry, but I was satisfied, and made a mental note to talk about it to him later. I tossed the wrapped hoagie to Robin, who caught it swiftly.

He realized what had happened, and nodded curtly. “I ran out of batarangs and KF is low on food. What’s the current sitch? Where’s the team?”

“The team’s fine. Batman and I decided to take a look-see; they lost contact with you. Clearly you were…” I smirked. Robin turned bright red, and part of me expected him to childishly deny everything. He didn’t. He looked at you, grim, Batman expression on his face before waving the hoagie in your face.

“Wake up, Kid.” He nudged you. “We’ve got food. Gotta get out of here.”


Robin shook you again, and there isn’t even a groan. Batman had a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off and had a hand on your neck with worry.

Then dropped it. Because you had no pulse.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (1/?)

Oh no... How sad!
Nothing's worse than losing a child... and what a horrible way to find out about your kids death!! >_<... Might not have been exactly what I prompted, but its wonderful job all the same. Cant wait to see how it continues...!!

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (1/?)

...oh my.

I'm just... Wow.

I'm almost afraid to find out what happens next...T_T

(in a good way)

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (1/?)




Oh my fuck I already know I'm just going to cry my eyes raw because I'm already all teary-eyed and aaaauuuuuugggghhh

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (2/?)

It'll be...long. I hope you don't mind! ;A;

I always gave you the benefit of the doubt. I learned it a long time ago when you were fourteen and handled a crime scene like it was no big deal. Your forensics skills were only off by 10%, and for someone who learned it secondhand, that was remarkable. You saved lives without me. You stopped burning buildings, learned how to vibrate your molecules, started your own team without me. So I always gave you the benefit of the doubt.

But I also knew the difference between speeding up your heartbeat so fast it looks like you’ve flat-lined and…when you’ve actually flatlined.

Your flesh was pale from not eating, but also because the color had escaped you. You had a smile on your face but you weren’t breathing. Your freckles scattered brightly across your complexion, but they didn’t dance.

“Wally,” I muttered. Bruce was by my side in a matter of seconds, but he wasn’t the only one who had detective skills. I saw white. Colorless red. Bleak cheeks without no sanguine, and a smile across pale lips that looked blue. Always give him the benefit of the doubt, I said to myself every second I was with you. For a second I wait—but it felt like eternity, watching your still body wrapped so tightly; continue to set in rigor mortis. You must have been…in this state, for at least an hour.

It was cruel; really. You and I sharing the cloak of time like it was a gift. This wasn’t something I wanted to see. That I needed to see; and although we’d just reprehended the criminal and planned to send them off to Alcatraz, I wanted to take that pat on the back I’d given Bruce back and kill them.

And Robin. Your eyes were closed, so you didn’t see the way Robin shook you. At first gently; groggily because he still wasn’t back in his senses. Then violently, like it was a joke. It was like watching a frame-by-frame watching him move your stiff body and letting it reverberate. “Dude—wake up. Seriously, wake up.

“Robin—” Batman began, and that was when my eyes followed the large purple bruise on his sidekick’s skull. It was under his bangs; well hidden under the darkness, but it was still there like a giant rock had been thrashed into his skull.

Robin didn’t care. He shoved the hoagie against your lips, smirked lightly, and his voice sounded broken. So…not there. “God. You’d think he’d be the first one awake. Always was an idiot. Hahaha. Wakey, wakey, Kid Mouth. Seriously—wake up.”

I looked to Batman and he said nothing. Batman was a man of few words, but just because he said nothing didn’t mean he had nothing to say. He was stern, choosing cryptic messages that took hours to decode, but at this very moment I doubted even he had the right words. Robin ran a hand through his hair, cringing lightly as he palmed the bruise.

He looked to me and my heart palpated. “He heals fast, doesn’t he?”

Your head was turned my way, eyes shut like a doll made of porcelain. You didn’t open your eyes, or suddenly smile. Your hands were buried in Robin’s cape but you didn’t tug it just to rile him up.

“Let’s get you both to the medical bay,” I said quietly. I couldn’t look at him in the face without my stomach tightening. You settle into my arms like a little baby, and faintly I remember that conversation only months ago where you wondered when Iris and I would have kids so you could have cousins to play with. I told you that we didn’t want to risk it just yet; we didn’t know if the speedster genes were hereditary. And we had you. We had you, so it didn’t matter, and the way you rolled your eyes—so child like, Iris and I knew we didn’t need kids. Not yet.

Still wouldn’t want them because they weren’t you.

“Get into the jet,” Batman said. Robin complied; and he was always like that when he knew I was here for you. I was—am your mentor, and he trusted me.

It took me all the effort in my body not to cry; not to tell Bruce that I wanted to be just like Robin and believe you were still alive. And I don’t know what I’m saying until—

“We may need to perform an autopsy.”

—I say it. And feel ready to puke.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (3/?)

I'm...not really a medic, fml.

You had a head injury where the sudden halt caused your brain to slam upright and confused your body. Something so vital that even for you, surgery would have been needed for it to heal properly. But you didn’t have surgery, and somehow it explained the large bruise that was on top of Robin’s head. Theoretically you should have had a gash at the back of your skull where your head started hurting, but the last of vitals was able to get your skin to regenerate. Your skull was busted in and there was a blood clot the size of my thumb in your vein.

I saw red the entire time; felt as it stained my fingers as they cut your body open like you were a frog on dissection day or a chicken at a cutlery and the scent is so thick in my nose that it’s suffocating. Your blood. I’d never seen your blood and the wound almost healed.

We waited for you. Despite having all the speed in the world, I also had that patience, and every second counted as we transported you to the Watchtower to check your vitals. Every second I tried to forget that I was a detective; a forensic scientist and that I could deduce your death before anyone. Bruce said nothing. And when J’onn got a hold of you—found no brain activity, we performed the autopsy.

It was your lung that was flooded with blood. You suffered from internal bleeding, and judging from delay, the blood clot appeared and closed off brain activity before your lung began to collapse. Had it been a second earlier—that maybe if your lung collapsed before the blood clot, you may have lived. The surgery would have saved your life.

Those who were allowed in the room were limited to just the founding members and the medics to heal our rooms. The exam took four hours and I couldn’t tear away from the room. You were like a science prototype that had gone wrong, and even being the Fastest Man Alive, my feet remained planted on the ground and I watched what they did.

They were professionals. I was a forensic scientist, but my expertise in anatomy was limited and I used chemicals. When they looked at you they gave me a pitied look before grabbing a knife and splicing through the Flash Emblem like it was just cloth. And it was.

Your chest was bare with a large purple bruise on your upper chest. The scalpel dug into your flesh there and it was like the rotten spot in an apple. You were pale white and unwincing, and Diana left the room choked up with sickened tears. A knife tore through the tissue in your torso--I can’t fit my hand in there, said one of the doctors—and suddenly a gloved hand was working its way in your rib cage and smothering with blood.

Your eyes were closed.

They shaved your head next. I’d never hated Bruce so much as when he pointed out logic that you should have healed. I wanted to slap him—slap him for telling the truth. In my mind you were the perfect hero. Are.

So they said, ‘The hair will get in the wayyour Uncle Hal carry your body bag in a green-stretcher looking shape into the small room where we kept dead bodies. We rarely brought dead bodies with us. Never had to. You were our seventh case.

Your team mates were in the Medic Wing looking over Robin with one of their smirks. They looked happy and joyful, and behind me the rest of the founding members had gathered. Robin had all types of wrappings around his head and looked like a little boy under his hospital gown. He also looked coherent.

He looked around, then frowned. “Where’s Wally?”

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (4/?)

“Probably digging out the cafeteria or something.” One of the girls smirked. You told me about her once, and Ollie assured that you had reformed. Artemis. She stared thoughtfully at me, then extended a hand, dropping snide for professionalism. “Nice to meet you. I go by Artemis.”

Kaldur frowned ruefully, held ducked at his chest with the frustration teeming in his gaze. “I am sorry. This mission…was my fault.”

The lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. No it wasn’t, I wanted to say. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; it was the fucking perps faults; the ones that were now locked up and would be interrogated later. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My mind—heart had died the moment yours did and putting it back together was impossible. It was my fault.

I could already see Iris staring at me with that gaze; like her world had been broken. That was how mine felt. What would I tell Iris? Rudy and Mary? Your school teachers?

What did I tell Robin?

This time Robin grew nervous, and behind his mask a look of worry was sculpted. You knew him like the back of your hand, you once told me. Despite the large bruise, a quick look at the clipboard on the edge of his bed said he didn’t sustain any serious injuries. You protected him. “He’s alright, isn’t he? Eating in the cafeteria? Like Artie says?”

“I don’t hear him in the Watchtower,” Superboy said crisply. You gave him his name. Conner, wasn’t it?

Behind me Clark looked genuinely surprised. “You can identify voices now?”

“I…” Conner stared back hesitantly and blinked. “I’ve been working on it.”

Clark smiled weakly. “Impressive.”

It was like watching a ghost of the past. Watching your youth to my confusion—

“Wally! Did you…just vibrate fast enough that they wouldn’t see you?”

“E…Er. Y-Yeah, I’ve been working on it—”


—and I hugged you that day with you holding my words heavy to your heart. Conner did the same with where in a fraction his breathing stuttered and he stared at Clark in surprise. He ducked his head, suddenly bashful, and M’gann put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

You had a crush on her, didn’t you? Before…Robin?

“Where’s Wally?” Robin asked again, and his voice came out like a sickening croak. His lips curled into a frown. “Did you really take him back to Central?”

I hadn’t said a thing. As far as I was concerned, my face had gone dumbstruck and had yet to change. An arid dryness seized my throat, hands trembling. My pulse raised to the point I would have vibrated down the floor, and Hal kept a firm grip on my shoulder.

Despite anyone’s efforts to tell him otherwise, Robin slid off the bed, yanked the IV from his arm, and dusted non-existent debris from his hospital gown. He looked like the fragile little boy that first became Batman’s sidekick; the one that didn’t know what he was getting himself into. You two had a tight friendship. “Take me to him.”

From any other person it would have sounded like a rude demand. That he was questioning others’ authority, but that was what described Robin in an essence. His voice was stiff, though, stressed, like he suspected something but it was the wrong thing.

“I…” My voice split through my eardrums as cruel, sick and twisted pain. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” His voice settled into panic.

“He’s dead.” The words were foreign on my tongue. Everyone called Flash the ‘laidback’ one, the ‘good-natured’ one, the ‘approachable’ one. I had the prankster nephew and on occasion would pull jokes with him. When the two words left my mouth I half-believed it was a prank.

On reflex Robin looked at me, demeanor relaxing and arms crossed. He fiddled with the bandages wrapped around his head. “You’re kidding.”

My voice hardened inhumanly. “I’m not.”

Hal kept a hand on my shoulder and at that moment I could feel my boots melding into the metal floor. Warm wetness trickled down my jaw line and the air palpated, seeming shallow and tepid in my lungs.

Robin’s stature lost its authority. He stared at me, hard and shaking. “You’re…you’re kidding.”

My head shook in jerky motions and the blood ran cold to my brain. I said it again and wished I was lying. “No.”

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (4b/?)

The room was silent, and the long monotone beep of Robin’s abandoned heart-rate monitor haunted my ears. The world went deaf just as the rest of your teammates, and it was Bruce who spun details. M’gann was first to react, hand flying to her lips. She burst into tears—short sobs, and Artemis held her tightly. Artemis was trying not to cry.

Conner’s fists dropped as palms against his thighs, eyes icy and mouth open, but from what bits I knew of him, he probably didn’t know how to react. When Batman finished going over the details—(brain hemorrhage, blood clots, lung hemorrhage, broken skull—o-oh, god…) Superboy threw the hospital bed over. Kaldur’s eyes lost life, but Robin…he stood there. He stood there in stun, ears turning bright pink with rage and said nothing.

He rammed a fist into my jaw.

No one said nothing when Conner flipped the hospital bed over, or when M’gann burst into tears. The moment Robin’s knuckles met my jaw reality hit just as hard, and a second was all I needed to see his rage. Frustration. Denial, anger, fear, and realization. He shook violently from his spot, hands curling and uncurling, and stood as still as a statue.

“You’re lying.” His voice cracked. “He was alive when you found us. He was—in—my…my arms.”

“He was in rigor mortis,” Hal said gently. He plucked me from the ground just as Batman did with his protégé. His. It would be a long while before I could ever hold you again. Hug you. It would be forever until you were just my baby nephew and I could hug you as tight as possible. “He…”

He died in Robin’s arms.

The realization settled in Robin’s demeanor and he didn’t budge. Not a word left his mouth. Ten minutes later, each and every mentor—even Clark—plucked their protégés, said their remorse, gave hugs, and disappeared. I still needed to tell Iris and the rest of the family.

Hal stayed with me until I stopped sobbing. Until I could gather the nerve to go back to Central City and until the roster was updated.

Name: Kid Flash
Alias(es): Wallace Rudolph West
Status: Deceased

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (5/?)


You’re always home before Barry.

I used to joke with your mother that gaining superspeed seemed to make Barry slower, and although I teased him mercilessly about it, you were upfront. You hated being late for anything, enjoyed being first in line, and the smugness in your voice was always complimented by the twinkle in your eye that still made you my baby boy.

It was endearing how Barry insisted I shouldn’t have stayed up, but I always did. I waited up for him after his late nights at the CCPD, and I always defrosted our leftover deserts from the weekend. You always got the biggest chunk; even before the accident.

When you were a little boy the best thing that always happened in my day was when I got to see your smile. It danced with the spots across your face, and your eyes glowed with this goofiness that warmed the heart. Red and yellow. They were your colors like the warm sun that radiated across endless fields of flowers.

Barry told me that you wouldn’t be home until Sunday night at the earliest. It was the beginning of spring break and right before you left for HQ we pinky-promised to trick Barry into taking us to Venice Beach and go speedster sailing.

The missions that lasted more than a few hours I always had no choice but to go to bed, so I always reheated the brownies or softened the ice cream or had a cake in the oven so by the time you were back you would have food.

That Sunday night I couldn’t sleep.

Maybe an hour at most is what I tried, but it didn’t help. I spent three hours running through the kitchen, sifting through the cook-book with a heavy clench in my heart. A tightening in my stomach felt suffocating, and anything I did when baking cakes and brownies and making ice cream was slow. It didn’t feel fast enough.

It was four in the morning at earliest when Barry finally showed up at the door without you. Hal—I offered him cake. As fast as I made cake I wanted to get rid of it; like it didn’t belong in my house any longer. Barry was numb, stunned, and in shock.

I couldn’t see his face, but under the cowl it was clear that he’d cried. Mister Jordon explained everything. Barry sat mostly in forced silence, and by the time he finished the gruesome tale tears drowned my cheeks and my mouth was agape.

Mister Jordon stared at me because Barry couldn’t, and I wasn’t sure how he could keep his composure.

Yet somehow his gaze was disturbing. Off-put not because it was unusual, but because it was forced. Mister Jordon had become the bearer of bad news and my husband—your uncle—couldn’t look me in the eye.

When Mister Jordon finally left, I scooted closer to him, knees touching, and waited. His pulse had disappeared like a ghost’s, and the cowl was easily peeled from his face. Barry’s bright green eyes leered the floor and he bowed his head in shame.

We hugged each other. The moment my nose hit the crook of his neck I held him tightly. Once, I’d asked you how long you wanted to stay at our house. It had been a long time ago when you were still young and we were newlyweds.

How long do you want to stay, Wally? I’d asked.

Forever, you chirped. Forever, and ever and ever and ever—and when Uncle Barry comes, I wanna stay for forever and a day.

The word was finally out hours later. Mary and Rudy called, concerned why their son never came home—or at least called, like he always did when he suddenly decided to sleep over at our house. The funeral was held two days later. They hadn’t talked to us since the phone call.

Your coffin was crisp. Back at work I was put in charge of writing the story of Kid Flash’s death and hated every word of it. Your schoolmates—nearly everyone in your grade, I think—all found out. They ignored their spring break, came back, to see you.

It was crowded. Looking through all of them, saying final words as they lowered your closed coffin into the earth. Through the mass of sobbing people, there was a little boy who stayed far back. He didn’t fit in; with a blazer that looked like it was from a school academy, or his neat hair. I watched him and he watched the dirt get thrown over your coffin.

He stood still, just like a statue.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (6/?)

The ceremony went on without that boy ever moving from his spot. Mary and Rudy shared their own stories: when you went fly-fishing with your dad and Mary reenacted the day you were born and became her sweet little angel. The little boy didn’t move. I doubt he blinked. Barry told the story of how you and he met. Whenever that story ever came up we always had to embellish—because in reality, Kid Flash was born that day.

Your uncle lied without telling the truth.

You were a shy little boy (he laughed softly) who didn’t want anyone to come near your favorite aunt. He wanted you to like him because five months later he and I would be getting married. You were one of his groomsmen because you were too old to be the ringbearer and Mister Jordan would have been sad if he wasn’t the best man. The part he left out was that you were perceptive enough to realize ‘Uncle Hal’ was also ‘Uncle Green Lantern.’

By the end of it, Barry’s eyes had moistened with tears, and I knew that look. He blamed himself for your death. People used to make jokes that your uncle was late for everything, and to him the punch line was that you were dead.

But I know you. You wouldn’t have blamed it on him; blame your death on your uncle just because he wasn’t there in time.

My story was different from the others.

I didn’t know what drove your mother and father to let me say the closing words before your body was buried deep underground, but it was hard to choose. You and I had been through so much, kiddo, and you were always one of my greatest heroes.

So I told them about the first time you smiled. The doctors said it was gas, but after my trip to Manchester, I finally got to meet you. You were tiny in my arms—so breakable, so fragile and innocent to the world around you. You cried. A lot. You whined, moaned, and whimpered ever since you were a little kid because you were a spunky brat who learned from me.

But when you smiled, the entire world always smiled back.

Patches of red hair had begun to grow around the crown of your head, and your eyes were that remarkable shade of green that came from your mother. Your freckles hadn’t come in yet, leaving your face bare except for that one speck on your nose, and I held you tightly in my arms.

“Hey there,” I said to you. You stared at me, blinking lightly and raised your head. “I’m your aunt. And I’m going to love you like you’re my little brother, and hug you until all you see are rainbows and butterflies.”

Your lips curled—tiny and small like the rest of you, and the smile it held brought the world to shame. You blinked your big green eyes, smiled so beautifully and—

And immediately had to get your diaper changed. Because being the precious little thing you are, you were also the messiest baby on the face of the planet.

I waited at the foot of your grave with your mother and watched as Barry, Rudy, Hal—and everyone else I assumed was from the league—chuck the dirt on your coffin. It was closed casket because the autopsy left your body in a mess, but I wouldn’t have doubted if it wasn’t even in there.

Funny, though. You always went for the literal thing, rather than the significance of the matter. You needed to feel getting struck by lightning, to feel closer to your uncle. You needed to hug anyone, to feel loved.

I needed to hug you, to remember although you’re fast, you would never leave my arms. Not until today.

That boy still hadn’t left, even after your friends from school said their regards. Barry said nothing, Mr. Kent was quiet when I gathered the nerve to ask him, and Mr. Jordan nodded my head.

You used to be one of those boys who went up to anyone, Wally, and a second later you’d come back with a new friend.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (6b/?)

I went over to the boy—watched him in his Gotham Academy uniform, and bent to his level. His blue eyes animated and stared right back at me.

“Hi,” I said softly. This boy belonged in Gotham. How did you know him? “Were you a friend of—”

He hugged me. His arms wrapped around my waist tightly, head buried in my torso and grip so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so—so sorry.”

I waited, staring at him in shock, before…finally hugging him back. “It’s alright.” He started to tremble, and I hugged him tighter. “It’s alright…”

Then it finally hit me. He was the boy you always talked about, right? The one when you spoke of him, your eyes glittered and your cheeks swelled with bright red? That when he laughed, you couldn’t help but grin, even if it was during a serious point of a mission?

I always thought when you brought Dick Grayson home, you’d be there holding his hand and grinning with the smile that lit the world.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (7/?)


The cave was quiet now, without your presence.

Any little noise sent everyone over the edge, and the moment something dropped or someone dared to speak, all heads would turn. Any, faint little thing reminded us of you. Three weeks since your death. The team didn’t cooperate well; not like we did when you were around.

If Conner faltered, you were the one who rushed by his side, patted him on the back, and grinned. If M’gann needed someone to try out her new food, no matter how burnt they seemed, you were the first. A smile curtsied across your lips, bits of charcoal smudged at the edge of your chin, and you always told her that it was delicious, regardless. When I gave the team an order, you were first to make a comment, Artemis would comment back, and then you would get into an argument until Red Tornado, Black Canary, and Batman were irritated.

But you are gone now.

Whenever Conner opened his mouth, he would then immediately close it. There was nothing to say; now that you weren’t around. M’gann baked. She baked until the kitchen was filled with various foods, until Artemis had to intervene and tell her to stop. You weren’t there anymore, to eat it.

As I gave orders, during those three weeks, it was as if talking to air. You were not there, and Artemis was silent.

But it was Robin, who everyone expected to change. Robin trained harder, until there were days he would collapse due to stress. He ate less, and looked like the ghost of what he once used to be.

Walking through the halls of Mount Justice was only met with the eerie feeling without your specter.

There was a thrash.

Another loud punch, a kick, an elbow, and perhaps even a tackle. I stopped by the gym, looking through the small crease to find who was training so violently, so vehemently that it brought chills through my skin.


He threw a punch, aggravated and more hurt than we’d seen since your death—then threw his fist so hard against the punching bag that a sickening SNAP resonated through the mostly-empty gym, and he collapsed to the mats holding his wrist, which jutted out in an odd angle.

“Robin—” I started, rushing through the doors, then halted.

He did not notice. Robin stood up from the mat, slightly incoherent from his impact with the punching bag, and held it for support. His purpling wrist trembled against the red material, and he mumbled something under his breath.

It was not until Robin went back to training that I…I realized he had mumbled your name.

“My fault…Wally, it was just…I should have been the one to…no. Not you. I should have listened."

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (8/?)


You showed me what a hug was.

You told me if I ever stopped smiling, think of something funny, and then smile again.

You told me eating French Fries and milkshakes together was heaven. I didn’t believe you. Heaven was a myth that the Genomes taught me, used figuratively to describe one’s sanctuary, and I told you that ‘French Fries and milkshakes’ did not represent such a sanctuary. Then you proved me wrong, going all the way to a place called What-A-Burger, ordering two large milkshakes and jumbo order of fries, before running back. We sat on the couch and pigged out on French Fries for the next three hours.

You taught me what the words ‘pigged’ and ‘out’ meant together, that same day.

You taught me how to play baseball.

You grinned and sat there for an hour, when I asked to count your freckles—to see just how many you had on your face.

You told me my first knock-knock joke. I thought it was stupid. You only laughed.

You woke me up from my first nightmare, and then told me stories of you and your Uncle Barry.

Then that same night, I fell asleep thinking of what you said, and dreamt about what it would be like, if Superman and I had the relationship you had with the Flash.

You once climbed my back just so you could reach the top shelf where M’gann kept her cookies. I only let you because you promised to share. Then you ate all of them and went to ‘Wally World’ to bring me something better.

You taught me how to eat an Oreo.

You taught me how to tie my shoe.

You used to zip through the mountain, find me sitting on the couch, and lean over the sofa, stretching out my face and forcing me to smile.

You told me that M’gann liked me.

You said that if I liked her back, then I should tell her.

You called me a wimp when I said no.

You ran away when I started chasing you around the mountain for calling me a wimp.

You were the one voice I could identify from anywhere, because you were so incredibly loud.

You had the loudest voice out of anyone on the team. And it was my favorite.

You showed me how to write my name because before the genomes, I’d never picked up a pencil.

Somehow you weaseled Robin into giving me a mechanical pencil made out of titanium because I broke the forty-two wooden ones and the twenty-three plastic-mechanical ones. The titanium pencil took longer to break: three whole minutes.

You insisted, one day, that if I really liked M’gann, that I should go after her. I asked you why, and you ran away.

The next day you told me why. There was someone you liked. You wanted to be with them so badly that it hurt every time you were in the same room and you were almost always afraid you’d slip up. You said you couldn’t be with them. I asked you who it was. You never told me, that day.

Robin hadn’t been the same since your death. He didn’t come by the mountain; not as much anymore.

It’d been three weeks since your death.

I…I want to ask M’gann out.

You’ll be first to know, Wally, if she says yes.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (9/?)


You were always the stupid one, Wally. You were an idiot that got on my nerves, and half the time I couldn’t take you seriously because you were just too damn friendly. There wasn’t anyone who was accepted on this team as easily as you were.

It wasn’t because you knew everyone prior.

Kaldur looked to you and saw a little brother. He smiled, on those days when he gave you an order over the comm.-link and had to wait for a response. Conner stared at you blankly, eyebrow arched, but it used to frustrate him so damn much when he couldn’t understand you. He saw you as a puzzle waiting to be understood. Miss M…you were an idiot, chasing after her.

A total, complete, doofus of an idiot.

You always tripped over your own two feet. You tripped on your own damn words. You had a stutter when you spoke half the time, and those seconds where you thought you could get away with it, you stared way too damn long.

You were a fucking ginger that I could not stand because you were also a pest that I just couldn’t get rid of. You got joy, didn’t you, from driving me crazy?


Because I missed that. I missed being able to come to this mountain every day after one of Ollie’s lectures, and having to deal with your impulsive, idiotic tendencies.

You’ll always be an idiot, West.

I wonder, if you ever got through that, and finally told him how you felt.

He walked around the mountain now, on the days he was actually here. His mentor let him off his leash as much as he needed, but what good was letting a dog off the leash if he was still in a cage?

You weren’t here anymore, Wally.

And quite frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him smile.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (10/?)


Your room, it…it was really empty.

But even after a month since you…since you passed away, the moment I stepped into it—saw the neatly made red bed and cotton sheets, the bookshelves filled with text books, comic books, and action figures, the work on your desk that’d been stacked high enough to be thicker than your goggles, and the pictures that littered the wall, it still felt alive. You still felt alive.

Another week had passed, but…it just wasn’t the same. Not without you. For the first time, Robin actually broke something (his hand), and it was…really quiet. It was hard, too, trying not to slip into peoples’ minds and figuring out what they were saying because they’d become so reserved without you. Kaldur was focused on trying to keep the team together. Artemis was…well, mostly focused on herself. She locked herself up and watched, and sometimes back at the mountain, she and I would go into your room and think about all the silly things you used to do. Like, reaching over the couch and stretching out Conner’s lips to make it look like he was smiling.

Or, hijack Robin’s scuba gear and waddle after Kaldur before he went off to Atlantis.

Going up to Artemis, grinning, and getting into fights.

Call me…beautiful. How you’d look me in the eye, unabashed and unprovoked, eyes glimmering, like that one day I wanted to try on makeup, and like every one of your silly comments, it was earnest, when you pulled the compact from my face and said, “Don’t wear the makeup.”

I asked, “Why?”

You said, with the biggest grin that made your freckles glow, “Because then it’d hide how beautiful you are.”

It was never a lie. I couldn’t recall the last time you lied, and when I smiled, giggled, and said I just wanted to do it for fun, you plopped onto the ground right next to me, grabbed the lipstick, and smeared it across your lips.

Then we talked about Robin.

We thought about how about like after that experience, you ran around the mountain, chased him, and didn’t come back until his entire face was plastered with big wet, Poppy Love, Cherry Jubilee, Instant Mocha, Sparkleberry Pink. How he…hacked your room, and how your freckles always seemed to gleam brighter whenever he was around. Robin seemed taller around you. Sure of himself, comfortable, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, his smile was always richer.

But he wasn’t like that now.

Robin didn’t make the effort to smile anymore. Not without you. He trained harder, always turned around at the smallest of sounds, and his broken wrist seemed dead in its cast.

He missed you. I didn’t need to read his mind to realize how much he missed you, how each day he detached himself further from the team—further from reality because of your death. I found him once, curled up in the middle of your bed back at Mount Justice with his knees to his chest and chin forward, eyes behind his glasses.

There weren’t any tears.

Now that I think about it, even with your presence hanging heavy on the team whenever we enter headquarters, I’ve…I’ve never seen him cry. The first night back at the mountain, Conner had been aggressive and frustrated to the point neither Dinah nor Red Tornado could calm him down. And before he could have seriously injured one of us, a tear had trickled down his face, gaze broken and eyebrows furrowed.

“An average of nine-thousand, five-hundred people die in the United States per day,” he said softly—a piece of information, most likely, from the genomes. Another tear had rolled down his cheek and he reached over to hug me, arms having gone limp. “Why’d he have to be one of them?”

Artemis had cried with me in the Watchtower, when Green Lantern had told us. The Flash…your uncle, he wore his heart on his sleeve. That day everyone on the team knew he’d died inside. I…caught Kaldur, once, after we tried to be a team again and miserably failed. He’d gone out, said he’d go back to Atlantis, and I caught him on the dock with his hands at his knees and tears down his face.

But Robin? I’d…I’d never seen him cry.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (11/?)

Sorry this took so long!

“How’s your hand, sweetheart?” Mrs. Allen smiled gently, reaching over the table to carefully examine Robin’s wrist.

“It’s getting much better.” Liar. Lie, lie, lie. Robin looked to her, voice hollow behind those sunglasses and that persona. His hand had been put in a cast in yellow and red. Your colors. For the first time though—in a month, and our teammates leaned in on this—Robin smiled. Sad, but broad as he turned his head to the Flash—Mr. Allen. “Thank you. For having us here.”

“Anytime, kid.” Mr. Allen’s green eyes softened and he lowered his head. Funny…you kind of had his eyes. “You can come over any time.”

It’d been a month since your death, Wally. We…were all here, over at your aunt and uncle’s house, to remember how great a person you were. Through that month we hadn’t gone on any other mission—the League thought that for now, it was dangerous. Even…if we got together, it hadn’t crossed our minds to sneak out and do the mission. Kaldur went on duo missions with Aquaman. Artemis went long periods of time doing nothing before showing up again. Superman and Conner occasionally discussed plans of moving into Metropolis.

Robin was…taken off the field completely. Batman’s reports count him as reckless.

Do you believe it? This…this boy that sat right beside Conner in a sweater vest seeming all too large and face still losing last bits of baby fat, seeming reckless? He’d broken his wrist, he’d been taken off any missions, and until this moment, one month after your death, he hadn’t spoke more than three words to any of us.

“There’s a statue of him in Central City Park.” Mrs. Allen stood up and grabbed a bowl of mashed potatoes. “One day…there was a bank robbery with the entire Rogue’s Gallery. Flash went to go and stop it—but when he got there, everyone was safe. Standing in front of the bank was this giant statue made of gold of Kid Flash.”

“The gold they used to make it is probably stolen,” Mr. Allen mused. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side with a small smile. “They should go to jail for it. But once the citizens of Central City noticed the likeness it had to Kid, they didn’t care. They insisted on having it.”

Robin pressed a hand to his cast, gaze focused on his plate. He hadn’t touched his food. “What about the Flash Museum?”

“There’s an entire wing just for him.” Mr. Allen’s lips curled into a small, sad smile and he tilted his head to the side. “Funny. There are so many…souvenirs he left behind. They’re still not done with it. From all the boots he wore while he was growing, one of the Kid Flash uniforms followed by the various prototypes, to little things like a napkin Kid Flash might have used to wipe off a hoagie he ate.”

Wow. I smiled, hands fumbling together as I reached for the fork. “Uncle J’onn…says that you’re planning on constructing a memorial statue of him, too. In the Hall of Justice.”

Mr. Allen nodded, and the creases in his eyes seemed to contort with a sad smile. “It’s…going to be the very first thing people see when they pass by the Hall. Up outside in the very front.”

“How peaceful,” Kaldur commented. He tried to smile as both Conner and Artemis nodded with agreement.

It was Robin who stood up, sliding out of his seat with his hand against his chest before he looked up and nudged his head toward the stairs. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” Mrs. Allen’s eyes shined and—really, Wally, she…she really looked like you. “You know where it is.”

Robin sauntered away from the table and we were left in a silence for a good three minutes. Finally, Mr. Allen lifted his head from his food, looking to Kaldur with a vibrant glow. “Bats is talking about putting you guys on a mission sometime soon. If not…a big one, then something pretty darn close.”

Kaldur’s eyebrows knit together and he grimaced. “I am not—”

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (12/?)

“Take it,” Mr. Allen insisted. He arched an eyebrow, and although sad his lips burst into the smile that you always had. “Wally? He wasn’t the type to mope, Kaldur. I’m still trying to get through it myself, but I know that if Wally was still alive, he wouldn’t have spent a month of grievance. Don’t blame yourself because he thought you made a fantastic leader.”

Wow. Oh…oh, wow.

“I remember the first night you guys came home from facing Kobra, after the thrill of the mission and having to deal with Bats.” His green eyes twinkled and a low chuckle left his lips. “He was so excited that you were working like a team for the first time and spent the entire night trying to figure out a name for you guys.”

“Young Justice,” Kaldur said, half-numb with surprise. It could be seen in his eyes how taken aback he was, but little did Mr. Allen know, Wally had been hesitant that night, when we voted Kaldur the leader. “I…”

“You didn’t fail as a leader, Kaldur.” Conner was next to speak, taking our leader with a shy smile. He did that more, and I think he did it for you. “None of us…we don’t blame you. Not even Robin.”

Robin probably blamed himself for your death more than any of us.

Kaldur looked back with sheer surprise, and I nodded. Artemis vocalized her approval with a different smile and nodded.

“Perhaps…” His eyebrows knit together, still trying to get over his stun before his lips graced with a smile. “We shall give it some thought. As a team.

“I-I’ll go get Robin!” I volunteered. He’d been gone for a long time now and no one made a comment on it. Standing from my chair, I sauntered to the bathroom down the hall—and found that no one was there. Where could he have been?

I looked without informing them because I didn’t think he’d left—then found him in your bedroom.

Robin sat on your bed with his knees against his chest and eyes gazing at the picture in front of him: one of you and him, and I could only guess that it was when you guys were a lot younger. There was something…off about him; the way Robin stood, the way he crouched—and when I moved forward, I heard a small crunch under my feet.

Plastic. His glasses. They’d been tossed to the side like they…meant nothing.

And reading his mind, I…I think they really didn’t.

He opened his eyes—his gorgeous, vivid blue eyes that I was seeing for the first time, and looked to me with his full concentration.

“Robin, I-I…” I think I’d seen his face before, but…I couldn’t face it.

“Dick Grayson,” he whispered. “Call me Dick Grayson.” Ro…Dick patted on the place beside him and scooted to the left.

I sat down, hesitation fluttering through my chest as Ro…Dick leaned into my warmth, and pushed the hair out of his eyes. They…were puffy, but not from recent crying. They were sore, with bags under his eyes, and just one touch felt as though he was…haunted.

“Make me forget,” he said.

“You don’t want me to do that.” I…I didn’t want me to do that. If Dick were to forget about your very essence, then he’d lose his very essence.

A small smile twisted across his lips, bitter and detached from everything around him. “Then help me sleep. I haven’t slept in ages.”

To that, I nodded. Robin needed his sleep—to be rational, to be secure, and without you here he’d lost his rock. My hand grazed his hair, which evidently hadn’t been properly been brushed in ages. He tried to look nice for you, at least.

Fingers rubbing against his temples, I closed my eyes as he closed his and…dreamed.

I saw what Robin saw. What Robin felt, what Robin smelled, what…Robin loved

Saw you. Saw you, how Robin saw you, felt the way he tingled whenever you pressed a hand to his shoulder, smelled the scent of your silly citrus aftershave, felt—felt the way Robin’s heart beat loudly whenever you around.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (13/?)

“I sent for the team—that’s as good a signal as I can get. Dammit.”

I paused. Looking up to Dick’s face, I saw him asleep, but…this was it. This w-was the night you’d…you’d died.

“It’s alright, Rob.” You’re breathless, barely audible and the fact Robin can hear you is a surprise. Robin associated it to running really fast up in the attic, and—Robin’s shivering. And he noticed you noticed him shivering. “We’ll be fine. You…cold?”

Robin was stubborn. “I’m…fine.”

“Dude, you’re totally…not…fine. C’mere.”

“Can’t catch your breath, Wally?” I could feel Robin’s concern. “Is it the climate?”

“Probably. Not used to it—Canada’s kinda sorta cold this time’a year. C’mere, dude. Now.”

Hesitation fluttered through Robin’s aura, but slowly he relaxed and—“D-Dude!”—you surprised him by tackling him to the ground with a hug. I could feel your head buried deeply into his stomach, and feel how Robin tingled at your very touch. “Get off.”

“No. Snuggling for warmth.” Your breathing was slowing, but Robin could feel your heart against his thigh. Your arms were wrapped around his torso and you looked too comfy to move.

“This is not how you snuggle for warmth.”

“This is the Wally West way…mm…tired, Dick. Really…need to…close eyes…”

“…alright.” Robin stiffened at your words, and soon relaxed. He pulled his arms away from your body, working tirelessly on his holocomp, and I could feel the red surfacing in his cheeks. “Get some sleep. I’ll—I’ll keep watch.”

“Cool beams, bro.”


“I…” Your breath was ragged, and Robin thought in his mind like you’d just lost a lung or something. “I love you, Dick. Forever, okay?”

I gasped, pulling away from Robin before any other memories slipped through to me. Wally, you’d… My heart tightened.

At my knees, Dick had fallen asleep, face buried in one of your pillows to take in the scent you carried and picture frame tight against his chest. And a lone tear cascaded through his eyelashes, down his cheeks, as he quietly sobbed.

writer!anon (Anonymous) Expand
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Because Your Freckles Dance [Picture]

A/N:: I HAVE NOT GIVEN UP ON THIS STORY OH GOSH OP I AM SO SORRY THIS IS TAKING SO LONG. D: Busy summer for me, but I promise there will be some updates in the future. First off, this picture that most of you have probably seen on dA that I've been meaning to actually post.

Here. (

And the next part, really is only one part; but I felt bad that I haven't posted much. Again, incredibly sorry!

Because Your Freckles Dance (14/?)


The first few steps, were always the hardest. It was where a person learned what they needed to bring to the table, what their job was, and what standards they needed to meet up to—and 9 out of 10 times, it was never met on that first day.

What did someone bring to the table, when the kid they’d known for two years with the cheeky smile and the freckles that glowed across his cheeks, suddenly died? What would someone do, when the last time he saw that kid—that person, he was grinning?

That, when this particular someone left Mt. Justice, this person followed after him?

Went, “Roy—wait.”

And after the comment from that person, that someone only turned his head, patience not a friend as he demanded, “What?”

“You should say,” the person said. “Please, stay.”

When his freckles gleamed and eyes mystified, that someone probably hesitated. And hesitated some more. “You and Robin doing any better?”

“We’redoingfine,” the person quickly replied. And then there was a silence. The person looked anywhere—elsewhere, as his cheeks glowed and eyes glistened, and his shoulders perked. “Soon.”

And he grinned, before zipping off and leaving that someone in his dust.

A fucking six months without you.

The first day—that first night, I still remembered vividly. Two cats saved from trees, one old lady getting her purse back, and seven perps sent to jail because they were stupid enough to meddle in a gang fight and steal a car. Gunshot grazed my bicep—hurt like a bitch.

Then Ollie came. We’d set unspoken boundaries for months now—don’t get in one another’s way. He and I both knew if he began insisting I came back to his side—to get away from heaps of empty ramen cups and a shitty job that barely paid the rent and kept me alive—that I would leave. That I couldn’t care less.

His first instinct that night was to hug me. Mine was to shove him off—but at the second, he murmured your name, over and over and over, mentioned how he was glad I was alive, how I was his “fucking reckless idiot of a son” whom he loved so much and—don’t die. Never, ever die.

So I pushed him off and demanded why he mentioned death. He told me you were dead. That…you died from a hit to the head, hypothermia—anything, everything I couldn’t wrap my mind around because all I saw was that…awkward, moron of a kid who had a voice loud enough to stir an avalanche, wit drier than a gummy bear in the Sahara Desert, and the most tender smile, like you just saved the fucking world every time you did something heroic, even if it was like saving a cat from a damn tree.

Alive. Ollie spoke, and all that crossed my mind was our last fucking conversation.

Soon. How soon?

No matter that night how many punks we put in jail, it still seemed miniscule without you there.

The night turned into the first day, where every time I turned, I did it because I heard your voice. Because your laugh haunted my ears, your smile my gaze and your attitude my everything.

In the eyes of others, we weren’t close. You and I saw each other many times when I sucked up my pride and asked the team for help. You came over at least once a month to ask me questions, and I asked you every single time, When? Soon, you always said, and neither of us believed you.

I kept telling myself that you and I weren’t close. We were never close. That was why it was so easy to leave you every time you, personally, asked that I stayed with the team. There was that age gap between us that made it difficult for us to relate to one another.

As though we never talked about girls, cars, money, being a hero, or that I helped you cope with your feelings. Silently.

You never did state it aloud. The way you looked at him as he regarded you was enough; from the way he would speak whether or not teasing or genuine, to the way you would bloom into a smile of your own and laugh, like the world was spinning in your heart.

Re: Because Your Freckles Dance (1/?)

I hope I'm not the only one, but for some reason I keep picturing Barry telling this to Wally after they've both died because Wally wanted to know what happened to Dick once he... left.

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