Disappearing Act - Part II
Dick had spent two weeks at Wayne Manner so far, at least he thinks it’s been two weeks. He has too many books to count and most of them weren’t Bruce’s. He knew what he was doing though. He knew. It didn’t matter that he could physically feel the bags beneath his eyes. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been home, or seen a single face other than Alfred’s for a week now. It didn’t matter that his voice hadn’t been used in over a week and it probably didn’t even work anymore. None of that mattered because he had figured it out.
No one had called him in on missions. Curious, too because he’d have gone in if they asked. He thinks Bruce had something to do with that. Actually he’s certain Bruce had something to do with that, he thinks as he gathers the papers with scrawled numbers and theorems. There’s no way anyone would be given this much time off for a loss, no matter how great it was. Dick was grateful, though, because he was sure he’d done it this time. He stumbles his way into a pair of pants, scrambling down to the Batcave to input the numbers.
He’d talked to Impulse, to see how he’d gotten here from the future. Dick thinks he understands how it works – and he hopes he’s right because this was his only lead. Bruce wasn’t in the ‘Cave, which he was grateful for.
Dick’s feet slap against the cold tile as he hurries to the machine – he hasn’t named it. He doesn’t know what to call it and frankly he didn’t care. To him it was just a tool – a tool to reach Wally. A tool he was going to make work. Bruce had paid for its construction, though Dick had used things he’d found around the ‘Cave as much as he could. Normally he’d decline the offer of assistance, but he needed to do this one thing and he couldn’t pull it off alone. He’d repay Bruce for it later – he shoves that into the back of his mind.
Wally.
He punches in the numbers, adjusts the dials, fixes the inputs, outputs, coordinates; if Wally could vibrate his molecules into an ethereal scramble, then Dick could find the right resonance to bring them back to a corporeal form. He watches as the machine kicks to life with a start, the human sized hole glowing a bright blue. He leans forward, muscles tightening like a compressed coil – brows furrowing as he chews on his chapped lips.
Three
Two
One
It dies.
The machine’s noise withers, light fading, racing numbers slowing to a halt.
Absolutely nothing happens.
No Wally, no person, no output stands in the gap. Just the cool wall of the Batcave. Cold and unforgiving.
Dick steps back, falling onto the couch provided. Alfred had moved it down here when Bruce had late nights his mind reminds him. Dick slowly lays down, numb. He pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch and curls into himself.
A pang of disappointment resonates in his chest followed by the crushing reality that he had let his love down, once again.
***
It is late. Or early, if one prefers to count that way. Far too early. Chill settles over the Batcave, clinging to the air like a fog too thick to breathe in. Behind the couch, a machine sits alone, singled out in the cave for a very special occasion. Of course its creator had given up on it hours ago, but as he sleeps the gap glows a bright blue, too fast to see, and cuts right back off again, noise startling him into consciousness. The ebony haired boy jolts awake with a start, turning his head to look over the spine of the couch wide eyed.
Choked lungs suck in a gulp of fresh air. Stricken, green eyes dart about the cave in confusion, bewilderment, and fear. Dick thinks he is dreaming as he stands on his knees on the couch cushions. The form standing in front of him is almost wavy, like it’s not really there but Dick recognizes the familiar shapes. It was no hologram.
“Wally,” he breathes, grip clenching on the stiff back of the couch as the tension in his chest unravels with the small utterance of that name. Green pools take a moment to focus on him – Dick can see the recognition in them - before rolling back to the side again, stumbling. He’s over the back of the couch faster than Wally can suck in another shuddering breath – he did always have the lungs of a goddamn tuba player – and pulls the boy into his arms before he even has the chance to fall. He’s warm, twitching, so very alive. Dick can feel his breath come easier just to confirm it. He prays to whatever deity is watching him right now that he is not dreaming.
“D-Dick,” he gasps, sputtering. “I – I’m – “
“Alive.” He interjects, nearly choking on his relief. “Home.” Wally nods, but he twitches and shakes too much to complete the action. Wally leans against him and Dick can feel the rapid pitter patter of his startled heart.
“I, I went too fast.” He wheezes, jittery arms tangling through red locks. “Too fast-“ He repeats.
“Shh,” Dick squeezes his lover, easing his clenching hands free of disheveled hair. “It’s okay, Walls. Calm down. You’re okay now. You’re okay.” Wally’s chest heaves. His shoulders slowly stop shaking as Dick murmurs assurances in his ear, his arms drop down to his sides. The man buries his nose into the crook of Dick’s neck, body going limp. Dick is having a hard time keeping the elation surging through his body right now contained. It was taking most of his being not to sweep Wally away in a barrage of kisses. He was okay, though. Wally was back now and that was enough.
“Wh…what happened?” Wally asks after a moment when his breathing calms and his body regains control of itself. Dick struggles to explain it. How did you tell someone that the molecular makeup of their body had basically scrambled?
“You were gone.” He says, squeezing the boy in his arms tightly. “You disappeared on your mission and you were gone for two weeks. Lost in the Speedforce.” He shakes his head, shiver running through the man in his arms. It is only now that Dick realizes Wally’s lack of clothes. Apparently his body was all that had come back, not his clothes too, though they might not have survived the breakup in the first place. Dick’s not sure. “Hold on,” he murmurs, shuffling the other boy over to the couch. Dick grabs the blanket and pulls it over exposed shoulders. He helps Wally wrap it around himself, creating a cocoon of blanket around his bare, raised skin. Wally blinks, looking down at himself, before grinning shakily.
“I’m like a burrito.” He jokes with a chuckle, looking at Dick with hopeful eyes – grateful green eyes. His heart flutters with the glimmer of summer’s green grass and a glimpse of those perfect pink lips. The younger of the two chuckles back at him. Wally never failed to lighten the mood. “I could do for a burrito.” He adds after a moment, which is quickly met with an amused snort.
“You disappear for two weeks and all you can think about is food. How typical, Walls.” Dick rolls his eyes, pulling Wally into his arms once again and brushing his chapped lips against Wally’s soft ones. He can feel the smile spreading across Wally’s lips as the elder snuggles up to him and chuckles.
“Hey, man, dude’s gotta eat – what was it – two weeks? You know I can hardly go an hour without food. How do you expect me to last for two weeks?” Dick rolls his eyes.
“Yeah – yeah I know.” He runs his fingers over Wally’s back. Wally lays his head on Dick’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck gently. With him this close Dick can breathe in the familiar scent of Wally – an odd mix of sweat and something indescribable Dick remembers from their childhood- something that drew him back to those months they spent in the cave, afternoons in Alfred’s flower garden on his parent’s death anniversaries, and the long nights playing Call of Duty at the West house. He had missed Wally. Two weeks didn’t sound like a long time but it had dragged on for a bleary eternity. Dick was so relieved to be like this again with him. He needed it. He’d missed it, missed Wally’s company.
He’d missed Wally.
“We can go get you food.” Dick murmurs, twining his fingers through pretty red hair. Wally breathes out heavily against his neck. He’s smiling; Dick can sense it. He missed doing that, too.
“No,” he drawls passively. “I’m fine.” He murmurs. “Plus, I’ve never been in the Batcave before – how could I miss out on this scandalous opportunity?” Dick chuckles, pulling Wally toward the couch.
“Lucky you,” he says. “You get to spend the night in it.” Wally laughs, flopping down on the couch as he wriggles his arms free of the blanket. Neither of them cared when Wally unwrapped himself and Dick crawled in beside him, cuddling close as possible between the quilted blanket; skin brushing against skin and linen boxers as the pair settle. Wally wraps the blanket around his boyfriend, taking comfort in his presence and wondering just what he had been through to get those nasty circles beneath his eyes and what it had taken to get him back here. He didn’t care, for now, because Dick was in his arms, head on his shoulder, and an arm over his waist for his first night back on Earth and that was all he could really ask for. Cuddling on the couch doesn’t work quite as well as it did when they were kids, but neither of them mind. Wally was happy Dick hadn’t given up on him. It was wonderful to be loved by someone like Dick, he thinks, laying his head down on the arm of the couch and letting his eyes drift shut.
***
Bruce jogs down the stairs the next morning, ready to start his work day at nine o’ clock sharp, as always. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be greeted with the sight of Dick curled up on the couch spread atop a bright ginger haired boy. The two were wrapped up in a blanket, sound asleep on the cushions he never actually used. Part of him mentally nags Dick about getting Wally back here in the cave, but the other part is just so relieved to hear the familiar snoring of the obnoxious kid that it doesn’t really matter to him. He was happy to see that Dick had gotten Wally back. …Proud to see his son succeed and proud to see that he was contented again. Bruce breathes a sigh of relief. Wally West – what a wonder it was to see the magic that boy produced in Dickie’s eyes. Beside himself, Bruce smiles faintly. Feeling as if he were intruding, the man backs out of the Batcave, resigning to wait a few hours before he starts his work day.
He could do for some coffee anyway.
The kitchen is spotless, just as expected.
“Alfred,” Bruce calls, ambling over to the coffee maker. He drags the grounds from the top cabinet, and pours water into the container. He can hear the familiar click of Alfred’s shoes as he spoons in the thick grounds. He knows that Alfred pauses in uncertainty to see him making his own coffee – of course Alfred had been doing this for him for years now but that didn’t mean he was incapable of it himself.
“Er- yes, Master Bruce?” He starts uncertainly. Bruce turns to see his immaculate clothes and friendly old eyes. It occurs to him that he wouldn’t be anywhere without Alfred, in all honesty.
“I believe it’s a good morning for a large breakfast,” Bruce murmurs, starting the coffee machine. Alfred’s brows furrow.
“Excuse me, sir?” He can hear the water bubbling and smell the dark scent of steaming coffee. Bruce glances back at the man, before quietly pouring himself a mug of the thick, black liquid. He takes a sip from it. It burns his tongue.
“Good to be prepared.” He adds, breezing past the man. “You know how those Wests could eat our entire kitchen.” Bruce can hear the man laugh heartily as he retreats into the upper floors. A few moments later he can hear the sizzle of a pan on the burner, and Tim asking Alfred a muffled question about why there was so much food laid out on the counter.
***
It’s warm and comforting. Safe. He feels safe. Arms clench tightly around him and he takes comfort in the subtle rustleing of his hair with the exhale of his partner’s breath. Dick presses in closer, blinking open groggy eyes to quietly count the freckles dusting Wally’s cheeks. He smiles with the realization that Wally is back on Earth again and not floating around somewhere in some molecular cloud. Looks like he hadn’t been dreaming after all. It’s odd to say but Dick feels as if his world is righted again somehow now that he can see the shock of ginger hair and tangle his fingers in it, or run his hand over relaxed muscles and feel the light ridges of scars over his back with gentle fingertips. Wally didn’t have very many. That, too, was comforting. Wally shifts, mumbling.
“’Morninh…” He mumbles, grip tightening around Dick’s waist. Dick smiles.
“Good morning.” He replies softly. Wally grins, but he’s so groggy that he doesn’t quite open his eyes. Even from down here Dick can smell breakfast brewing upstairs, along with the delectable scent of freshly made coffee. Bruce must have seen them already if Alfred was making breakfast. Dick yawns, shivering as the chill of the Batcave sets in. Generally, mornings with the pair were never quiet, but Dick counts his blessings that this one was; with their limbs tangled beneath the quilt and Wally’s warm breath in his hair. He wonders just how tired Wally was, what weird toll the Speedforce had taken on his body. Dick presses closer to the speedster, letting the warmth intermingle between both of their bare skin. “’m glad you’re back, Walls.” He mumbles, closing his eyes for a brief moment more. He knows he will have to get Wally some clothes before they can go to breakfast – he’s certain there’s something of his in the library that will fit Wally…probably. Wally’s chest falls beneath him, smile curling at his lips as bleary bottle green eyes blink down at him. Wally’s fingers trace Dick’s spine as he replies.
“Thanks for lookin’ for me, Dickie.” Dick falls silent for a moment.
“Of course I looked for you.” He replies, brushing the comment off. How couldn’t he of? There was no way that Wally would have gone missing and Dick not done something about it. The thought of accepting Wally’s death wasn’t one that had even crossed his mind. If Barry weren’t so choked with grief he’d have been looking too, more than likely. Dick pushes himself up, quilt slipping off his back. The cold hits him like a brick wall, pricking his bare skin. “Come on,” Dick says, rolling off the couch to wiggle his way into a pair of jeans. “Let’s go get you some clothes so we can get some breakfast. I’m sure you’re gonna have a busy day today.” Wally perks up at the mention of breakfast, sitting up to run wary fingers through his messy ginger hair.
“’m sure,” he agrees. “Mom and Dad are gonna be in for a real shock.” He mumbles to himself. He pauses. “Was I…officially…?” He can’t finish, but Dick knows what he means. He nods.
“You were reported dead to your parents three days after, though Barry told them how it happened…everyone thinks you’re dead Wally. There hasn’t been a ceremony, but…” No one wanted to accept it. Wally nods, resting his chin on Dick’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized Wally had gotten up, but Dick pats his cheek affectionately as the taller boy sighs regretfully in his ear. “’S okay, Walls. You’re back now.” He turns, brushing his lips against Wally’s. He plans it to be brief, but Wally’s gently calloused fingers pull his face back in when he starts to pull away and their bodies meld together. The moment wraps around them like a veil separating the two from the rest of the manner if only for a few brief moments. This kiss wasn’t anything like their first one. They knew each other well enough that it was like looking into a mirror. Wally tangles his hand in Dicks hair and in turn Dick cinches their waists together. The rhythm sets in like a familiar song that guides their bodies, lips tasting like molasses – or maybe that was the scent of the syrup drifting through the air. Wally parts first for breath, blinking and looking at him like that was exactly like the first time they’d kissed. Dick supposes it could be considered a first kiss – first kiss back from the dead.
“C’mon, Alfred’s making pancakes.” Wally grins goofily, flashing his pearly teeth.
“Oh hell yes.”
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Part I
