Chapter Text
"Howdy, stranger."
Wally slowed to a stop as the masked hero in black sauntered out of the shadows. One hand sat on his cocked hip, and he held the other out with his thumb up, like he was hitchhiking.Wally glanced over his shoulder; everyone else had evaporated. He instinctively reached for his comm, but his fingers brushed over an empty ear.
… right, he groaned. It was destroyed in the explosion. Great."... you."
"Me." The raven-haired boy grinned, and the small twist to the corners of his mouth was equal parts gleeful and … mischievous. It was disturbingly familiar.
The rest of him, however, wasn't. Not really.
He stood about Wally's height and had his build. Blue stripes zig-zagged across his chest and then extended down the hero's arms and over his middle and ring fingers. The blue goggles that had covered his eyes when Wally had met him on the field were back over his forehead; a large black mask hid most of his face. The guy's longish black hair curled over his collar just at the nape of his neck. He had one side of his floppy bangs tucked behind one ear; the goggles kept the rest at bay.
How the hell had he gotten here? Wally jogged in place anxiously—chatting totally isolated with a strange vigilante wasn’t high on his to do list.
“So where did you—how exactly—no, no, start at the beginning,” Wally frowned. “Who are you?"
The stranger finally let his hitchhiking hand drop, and he was still grinning, but it softened a little. "Nightwing."
Less mischief.
Trying to remember the names of all the heroes he knew—and the ones Robin had dug up, Wally tilted his head. "Never heard of you. Are you a new sidek—partner or something?"
Nightwing laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth to muffle it. "No. Not anyone's sidekick."
The echo of the laugh hit Wally in a way he couldn’t quite explain, sending goosebumps crawling up his arms. The laugh he heard in the hangar. He adjusted his ear cups; everything was off, like the universe was fitting too tight and too loose at the same time. "Uhm, thanks for the help, er … yesterday."
This is really weird. How do you thank some dude for probably giving you mouth to mouth?
Nightwing nodded. "Right back at you," he said, and a note of sadness slipped into his tone. “Sorry I couldn’t do more today.”
Hmmm. Wally decided to get to the point. "... is there something I can, uh, help you with?"
A strange, heavy silence settled over Nightwing as he rubbed the tips of his middle two fingers—the ones with the stripes—over his thumb. The patch of material looked worn there, like it was a habit. He finally cleared his throat.
"Actually, yeah. I was hoping for a ride, speedster."
"... a ride?" he repeated, dumbfounded. Why in the world would he ask me for a ...
"To Central City. Heard of it?"
Wally’s jaw dropped. Is he making fun of me?
"What do you need there?" he said abruptly, feeling possessive of his hometown.
"I need to go home. My train leaves from that station," Nightwing replied cryptically. "After I run one more errand." His smile was very soft now, hopeful—maybe even a little sad. "Are you headed that way?"
Wally seriously considered lying: Who the hell is this guy?
But he didn’t.
"Yeah. I live there."
"Well, that's convenient."
Wally hemmed and hawed for a moment. He did owe him his life. At least twice over. Maybe more. Also, Wally couldn't ignore it; Mr. Mysterious made him feel safe.
He didn't like it. At all.
"... sure. Ok." Wally turned his back to the older boy, bracing for the awkward shuffle of getting someone on his back he’s never given a ride to. Knees and thighs in the wrong places, and elbow in the throat; it was all inevitable. "Just put your legs—"
Nightwing was already there, knees tucked next to Wally's elbows, legs folded at his hips, like he was kneeling. This placed Nightwing's shins in Wally's hands; usually people sat with legs dangling in front. Weird. But it would do. He shifted under the odd weight of the boy; Wally rarely carried someone his own size.
The texture of his suit was a little heavier and rougher than Wally expected; it was a Kevlar weave instead of lycra or spandex. An incredibly thin weave for Kevlar—Wally'd never felt anything like it.
Nightwing snapped his blue goggles down over his mask; his black and blue-striped arms slipped around Wally's shoulders.
"All aboard the Kid Flash Express!" Wally could hear the grin in his voice.
"It'll be about an hour and a half—maybe two. That ok?"
Again with the grin. "Take your time."
"... Sure."
Wally set off toward New York, and Nightwing clung to his shoulders. Again with the familiar . He felt like Nightwing was a puzzle piece that just barely didn't fit—the size and the shape and the weight was just off whatever he was supposed to be. He didn't have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, as he dodged trees in the lush Pennsylvania hills and navigated by cars on the highways in Columbus too fast for the drivers to see.
At some point during the trip Nightwing slipped one hand under Wally's arm and, leaving the other arm over his shoulder, entwined his fingers diagonally across Wally's insignia. It took some of the pressure off his shoulders and distributed it to his torso, so it was actually really comfortable—if it didn't feel so personal.
Wally's face flushed.
When they finally pulled into downtown Central City, Nightwing had his head tucked into the crook of his neck and was breathing evenly.
"Are you asleep?" Wally panted.
No one could sleep through that. Most people couldn't even relax. Even Robin didn't relax.
"No, not really." Nightwing hopped down to the pavement and yawned. He was more relaxed than Wally was, still huffing and puffing from the trip.
Sweat beads ran down Wally’s face as he bent over and propped his hands on his knees. "Dude, you're fat," he laughed, unthinkingly. Ack, rude. His head popped up, and he looked Nightwing in the eyes. "Oh, man, sorry … I …"
But there was nothing in them but mirth.
"Speak for yourself, Kid Fat." He pushed his goggles jauntily back up into his ruffled hair and stretched flexibly from side to side.
It looked really, really—
Wally couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and he laughed sheepishly while he stretched, grabbing an ankle to stretch his aching quads and then leaning over to grab his toes and relax his Achilles. Nightwing looked at him quietly, not staring, exactly, but observing, like he was taking notes on an exotic animal.
Wally did his best to ignore the attention. Be polite.
Nightwing glanced at his watch. "That was almost two and a half hours. You could have broken the sound barrier, you know. Slow poke."
I can’t break the — " What?"
"I brought earplugs. I guess I should have mentioned that." Nightwing reached up and pulled two small, strange looking devices out of his ears.
"Do I know you?" Wally spat out. Okay, so much for polite.
Nightwing seemed to mull this over. "You do now."
Wally narrowed his eyes. This dude. If I didn't know better …
"Well … so the train station's about a block over," he said, still panting a little and pointing just past the center of the quaint cobblestone downtown. The streetlights flickered in the evening. It was almost certainly closed. "But … what time's it leave?"
Nightwing shrugged. "I have a while. You're faster than public transportation."
"So ... what are you going to do?"
Nightwing gestured southwest. "Isn't there an all-night diner in that direction? Smitty's? I can grab a bite and ..."
Wally wrinkled his brow. "That's not open for another month."
"... Oh."
"You were going to hang out there in your uniform?" It was a cool uniform, mostly, but hanging out in public like that wasn't exactly standard procedure.
Nightwing glanced down and patted his chest. "Oh. Right. So what are you doing?"
"I have to go … house sit.” This was true; his parents were gone for the weekend, but he didn’t specify that he was “house sitting” his own home; even though he’d rather than spending the night at the Cave with the Team. “Otherwise, I'd have stayed ... back east." Particularly this weekend, since Robin was—
"Oh." Interrupting Wally’s train of thought, Nightwing swallowed a little. "I guess … I chose a good weekend to get a ride, then." He rocked back on his heels and then forward his toes. "I dunno, aren't you hungry? I am."
Kid Flash frowned, but his stomach rumbled. Nightwing cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe we could run to somewhere that has an open restaurant. I’d be glad to buy you dinner."
Did this dude just ask me out on a date?
"... house sitting, remember?"
"Well then... you don’t mind if I patrol, maybe?" Nightwing sighed, resigned.
Wally felt bad, somehow, leaving him alone. He knitted his brows. I mean, if he doesn't think the house is mine , wouldn't it be safe? he rationalized, in a totally irrational way. I'd be dead right now if it weren't for him. Least I could do is give him a hamburger or something. Or lettuce. Maybe he's vegetarian. Plus, I can keep an eye on him, right?
"Uh …" Wally paused. How is this a good idea? "You can come to—uh, the house I'm sitting. It's a friend's," he added quickly. "So, not mine."
HOW IS THIS A GOOD IDEA?
But it totally felt like one.
Nightwing smiled broadly. "Asterous."
"What did you say?"
"The stars are nice tonight, don't you think?" Nightwing paused and looked skyward as he clasped his wrists behind his back. "Aster. Astronomy term."
Ok. Final straw. Robin's relatives are dead. Maybe a cousin? Some freaky clone? A long-lost member of the Bat-Fam? There's no way. Twin: category evil? Wally cocked an eyebrow. He's lacking the evil goatee, anyway, but--
"... Are you related to Robin?" Wally asked bluntly.
"Uh … you mean Batman's pa … sidekick? Related to?" Nightwing said with a strange emphasis on the 'related.' "No."
It rolled off his tongue like it was true. Wally weighed the odds that this guy would know "asterous" but not Robin, and they were pretty small. Still. So was the superhero community. He could have picked it up.
Regardless, he's got a lot in common with Robs. Wally frowned again. He still wasn't sure what to make of it.
"... well, hop on."
Nightwing vaulted lightly onto Wally's back, warm and comfortable, like he fit.
"All aboard," he said. Wally flashed to his house a few miles away.
As Wally pulled to a stop in front of what was actually his house, and as he dismounted, Nightwing raised an eyebrow. Wally shrugged it off.
The path to the modest brick home was lined with immaculately curated poppies and daisies. The green shutters sported a fresh coat of paint, and the automatic porch sconces bathed the entrance in soft yellow light.
Wally did his best to subtly flip aside the sign "West" by the doorbell to dig out a spare key and opened the green door and paused. Pictures of him littered side tables and walls. He turned to the black-haired hero, who kept as neutral an expression as he’d ever seen.
"Uh …" Wally stalled. "I uh … wait just a second."
And, in fact, literally a second later, Wally was back at the doorway, all damning evidence of his lie conspicuously absent. Photos were even rearranged to sort of disguise the darker, un-faded spots protected by the frames with pictures of him in it. Nightwing nodded subtly, as if in approval, as he stepped past Wally and inside.
Five minutes later in the dining room, Nightwing lounged comfortably at the kitchen table, one arm dangling loosely over the back of his chair and a foot propped up on the rungs of one next to him. Wally gave him a funny look over the divider as he rooted through the cabinets for plates.
Sure knows how to feel at home ...
Nightwing started a little when he met Wally’s eyes, and he sat up, taking his foot off the chair and politely folding his hands on the oak table.
"Soooo … this is your ... friend's place," he said. "It's nice."
"Thanks. You want something to drink?" Wally leaned into the white fridge. "There's also ice cream."
"Soda's fine. Strawberry Zestia. You can keep all your ice cream to yourself, fatty."
Wally peeked over the top of the fridge door, one elbow balanced on top of it. "They don't make Strawberry Zestia."
"They don't? Really?" Nightwing pouted, fiddling with the fake chrysanthemums sitting on the white doily on the center of the table.
"Pretty sure I'd know."
"Hmm. I must be thinking of some other brand. I'll just have water, then."
Wally snorted and tossed a bottle over the counter peninsula that divided the kitchen from the boy at the table. Nightwing unscrewed the top.
"Sure is nice of your friends to let you use all their food on strangers," he baited.
Wally pulled fresh hamburger, lettuce, and tomatoes out of the fridge and didn't make eye contact as he put them down on the counter. "Uh, yeah."
“I guess they’re cool with you hanging out in your uniform?”
"So, 'Nightwiiiing'," Wally drawled as he fired up the burners. "You want a burger? Mustard? Where are you from? Tomato? What the hell is your deal? Sesame seed bun or plain?" The questions came one after the other in quick succession as he spun around, arms crossed over his chest, glaring the other superhero down. If he was going to get personal, Wally could get personal right back.
Nightwing's lips twitched. "Sure, medium. Mustard and ketchup. Can't tell you. Lettuce, no tomato. And, frankly, I don't really know anymore."
"Hmm." Wally frowned and sprayed a little canola oil on the griddle.
“Also, sesame seed bun, please.”
The canola oil snap crackle popped as the buns hit the grill. "Huh. Kinda overly secretive, aren't you? You know, if you hadn't saved our lives yesterday—“
"—and today, " amended Nightwing.
"—I wouldn't be sure whose side you're on." He threw the burgers down on the grill, pressing lightly with the spatula. A snappy response wasn’t forthcoming, and he turned to find Nightwing staring at the table in thick silence, tracing the edge of some carnation petals that had fallen that day at the base of the vase.
"I'm on yours. I'm always on yours," he said quietly.
The patties sizzled on the hot grill and filled the kitchen with a savory aroma. Wally finally cleared his throat. "One or two? Or three?"
"One's fine." Nightwing smiled as the speedster sliced the vegetables with deadly efficiency and toasted the buns.
One for Mr. Mystery, four for me … Wally, on the other hand, knitted his brows for the umpteenth time that night as he put the burgers together. He takes his burgers the same way Robin does. But how could...? Is he trying to impersonate Robin? If so, he's pretty damn bad at it because he needs to actually, you know, claim to be Robin. Or something.
As Wally put the burgers on the plates, Nightwing sighed and stretched. Wally heard him adjust himself back into the more comfortable position in the chair.
Wally spun around, plates in hand. "Saddle up, du—"
But he froze at the entrance to the kitchen. Nightwing's mask was casually discarded on the table, and he was rubbing his eyes absentmindedly.
"Huh?" Nightwing said, looking up. His crystal blue eyes sparkled in the kitchen light.
Wally's mouth dropped open.
"I don't think you're supposed to do that, Robin," he whispered.