Always Answer The Phone

What Was The Point?

Wally was mad. No, he was more than mad. He was fuming, seething even. He'd managed to get Dick back home and into bed -with much convincing that he would still be here upon him waking- and sat down to process everything. 'Did Dick really have that little faith in him? To think that he would leave him alone after what just happened.'

Wally was sat quietly at Dick's kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall across from him. Every once in a while his face would be illuminated by the glow of his phone lighting up. Messages from the Team he assumed, but never checked. He didn't want to talk to them now. They weren't ready to hear what he had to say.

Should he call Bruce? Or did he already know and do nothing? It was too early for him to be asleep and too late for him to be off patrol. Should he leave a message? Even after tonight's break down Wally didn't know how bad Dick had really gotten. He could only hope it wasn't what he thought. Even if all the signs were there, judging him with their blank stares.

Empty spots on the walls where pictures once hung, a bare kitchen, and his unnaturally clean apartment. Wally let out a defeated sigh and rubbed his hands across his face. He should really call Bruce.

Resting one cheek in his palm, he reached down and dialed the familiar number. The phone went straight to voicemail. Wally sighed again and waited for the beep.

"Hey, Bruce? It- it's Wally." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "It's Dick. He's bad, like, real bad. I don't know if he's- I'm gonna try to find out in the morning. If you can, try to get here as soon as possible. I don- I don't know what else to do..." Wally was cut off as the limit was reached. He hoped Bruce got his message soon.

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The soft sounds of dishes clinking together woke him from his rather peaceful slumber. Dick peaked open his eyes slowly, allowing them time to adjust to the light. 'Who's in my kitchen?' was the first thing he thought when he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Fuzzy black dots invaded his vision as he stood up, forcing him to sit once more, or risk falling on his face.

While he waited for his vision to clear, Dick tried to focus on last night. Was it a dream, or did it really happen? If it was real, it would explain the strange noises currently coming from his kitchen. 'But what if it wasn't?' A little voice rang in the back of his head. 'What if it wasn't?'

Deciding the only way to figure it out would be to check, Dick got up and made his way towards the door, resting his shaking hand on the knob. He stared at his hand for a few minutes, hesitating. What if it really was Wally? What would he do? What would he say? He couldn't face him like this, unprepared as he was. It would only cause a repeat of last night, and he didn't want that to happen again. Reassuring himself that he'd open it soon, Dick backed away and went into his bathroom, grabbing a pair of clothes on the way.

He'd be lying if he said he recognized the face in the mirror. Big black bags rested underneath dull, tired eyes. Skin, pale and thin from lack of sunlight and proper nourishment. Bruises, a dull purple and green, littered his jaw and cheek. All and all, he looked dead, and honestly, Dick felt dead. 'And maybe that can still be arranged,' the little voiced cooed. 'No,' Dick thought, 'Not yet.'

'Maybe later'

Ignoring the mirror, Dick quickly brushed his teeth and threw on sweatpants and long sleeved shirt. If it really was Wally out there, he didn't want him to see anything. Dick had, after all, promised him that he'd never cut himself. 'And look where that promise went,' The little voice added, 'right out the window.' Dick brushed the voice away and walked back to his bedroom door, placing his hand on the knob once again. He sucked in a deep breath, it was time.