Sick Bird.

56. The House of West.

A quick knock on the door and a polite, "Hello Mrs West," was the way the young Grayson started his eight pm, unauthorized evening sleepover slash running away from home operation.

"Dear, I've told you several times not to call me that!" She laughed, pulling Dick into the house while Wally felt completely ignored.

"Ah," the speedster sighed, watching his mother lavish his best friend with affection as he walked past them and into the only place that could comfort him, the kitchen.

A bag of chips were whisked into his longing hands, flavored with the only taste that could sympathize with the loneliness that crept into his chest, sour onions.

It happened every time Dick came over, his parents fawned over him like he was some superstar and their own son was officially considered the maid. A chip flew into the ginger's mouth as he leaned his head on his open palm, narrowing his eyes at the two people in front of him. At least I got free dinner.

Another five chips in and he strolled into the living room, apparently unbothered as he casually slumped into a couch opposite his mother and friend. "When's dad getting home?" He saw no need to not disturb whatever conversation they were having.

"By ten," said she with the same reddish hair and green eyes as he who ate the chips.

"Hm," Wally hummed, his eyes shifting from his mother to Dick. He shoved a fistful of the somewhat sour chips into his mouth and shrugged. How sweet.

"Wallace," his mother warned.

The son in question looked at her. "Yes Martha."

"Behave,"

Wally nodded continuously, his hand slipping into the bag of chips on his lap. "Of course, dearest mother." And more chips were sacrificed.

"So, Richard!" She started loudly.

Wally winced and the bag crinkled as his fist squished some poor group of thinly sliced, fried and flavored potatoes. Here it comes. The boy thought dully, shoving the powdered chips into his mouth as his mom droned on and on about this and that. School, novels, why Bruce Wayne selfishly kept the adorable Dick all to himself. Wally in turn reacted by letting out a few what's, oh-no's and a couple, "But he's here now, mom."

Needless to say, Wally left the conversation once the chips got finished, crushing the nylon bag into a ball and tossing it into the bin while looking for something else to fill the void that was his stomach, preferably something bitter.

"Dude," he heard a sigh come from behind him and the hand that rummaged through the cupboards froze. "Your mom sure is a talker." The speedster recognized the laugh then closed his eyes and let his hand fall to his side as he licked his lips before he finally spoke.

"Yes, she is." Wally replied, opening his eyes and gently shutting the cupboard in front of him. A part of him was tempted to add, she's only quiet after you're gone, but he didn't.

"And why does it seem you don't want me around?" His friend's voice dropped in volume, yet seemed as though it was echoing all around the kitchen to Wally.

"I don't," his back still to his blue eyed friend, the speedster shifted to the fridge, throwing the door open and grabbing the first thing he saw. An apple, bright and red, quite far from bitter. Wally hesitated for a moment before shutting the fridge and taking a large bite from the fructose-filled fruit, unconsciously turning to his friend.