Here it is folks, the companion piece to Sleeping Beauty, as promised! =D The response to Sleeping Beauty was fantastic and I really can't thank you all enough! Love you guys!
Speaking of love, .Converse made me an awesome (!) fanart of Prince Wally and the gang and sonadow1111 made me a super cute movie-theater-like preview of Sleeping Beauty. You can find links to both in my profile, and you should all definitely check them out!
Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice (But know what I do own! Batman panties! Hot Topic is selling a tri-pack of Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman underwear, and I highly suggest all you ladies go buy them right now!)
Dick loved The Lion King.
Or at least, he did when he was three. He didn't really remember that much about it now. It was about Simba the lion. . . and some other lions. . . and Simba became king, eventually. That was all kind of obvious though, wasn't it?
Plucking the film from the line of Disney movies on the wall, Dick flipped it over to examine the back.
"Why do you have all these Disney movies?" He didn't need to turn around to know his adopt-o-dad had entered the room. The training Bruce had put him through the past few months was really paying off. At this rate, he may actually get to go out patrolling with the famous Batman before his ninth birthday.
Bruce strode over to the large couch in the center of the room and sat down. "I wasn't really sure what you would be into, when I first adopted you, so I kind of just bought a bunch of stuff."
Dick fixed him with a deadpan stare. "I'm eight, Bruce, not five."
The corners of Bruce's lips twitched up in a slight smile. "I'm surprised this is the first time you've taken notice of them, actually. You don't seem to watch many movies."
Dick hummed in agreement, keeping The Lion King in hand but allowing himself to gaze at the hundreds of DVDs lining the walls. "Habit, I guess. We didn't have a TV in our trailer, so I grew up not watching movies. I've actually only seen about three, and those were in the movie theater."
Bruce sat up a little. "If you don't like movies, we don't have to-"
"I'd like to," Dick cut him off. He'd been acting depressed all day; he was perfectly aware of that. He felt bad, because Bruce and Alfred seemed distressed about it, but it wasn't really something he could help. He was depressed today. In the six months he'd lived at Wayne Manor, Bruce had never offered to sit down and watch a movie with him before. He glanced at his guardian and offered a shy smile. "If that's okay with you." Dick wasn't going to give up this opportunity for the world. Spending time with Bruce had come to mean everything to him. Funny to think he had been afraid of the man his first month there (what was even funnier was that he hadn't been afraid of the workers in the orphanage, and they had been legitimately mean to him).
Bruce nodded. "Of course," he glanced down at the movie in Dick's hands, "Is that what we're watching? I thought you said Disney movies were for kids?"
Dick smiled and glanced at the cover fondly. "Lion King was my first movie. I don't really remember it, but I know I loved it. I used to have this little stuffed Simba toy that Dad bought me. I took it everywhere with me when I was little. I'm not really sure what happened to it. . ."
He put the movie back and glanced up at the movies above it. "Disney movies are for kids though. We should watch something else."
Bruce stood up and came to stand behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Reaching over his other shoulder, he grabbed the movie back off the shelf. "Actually, if you don't mind, I kind of want to watch it. It's said to be a masterpiece, but I've never had a good reason to watch it," he glanced down and offered his ward a small smile, "And when you're a grown man and owner of one of the largest corporations on earth, you need a really good reason to watch a Disney movie."
Dick laughed. "Bruce Wayne caught watching cartoons. Imagine the kind of headlines that could make."
"Exactly. I may not enjoy acting the way I do in the public eye but I do have some pride as Bruce Wayne. So," he took his hand from Dick's shoulder and put it on his head, ruffling his hair, "what do you say? Mind being my excuse?"
Dick pushed his hand off and grabbed the movie, making a running dive for the couch. "How about we just don't let anyone know? Then we can both keep our pride."
Bruce walked over and took the DVD from him, placing it in the player before settling down next to his son. "Sounds perfect. It can be our secret, not even Alfred will know."
Dick grabbed the remote and used it to turn off the lights as the movie started playing. "Naturally. Alfred would use knowledge like that to blackmail us into eating our meals at regular hours." Dick stopped eating regularly the moment his training with Bruce started. Now he was in the habit of eating whenever it was most convenient, just like Bruce. Alfred was not happy.
Bruce laughed, loud and unashamed, then put his feet up on the table in front of them. "And that, Dick, would be a tragedy indeed."
The beginning of the movie wasn't horrible. They laughed a little and poked fun at a few bits. It was nice. It was nostalgic, sure, but it was a good nostalgic. Dick felt like he was sharing a part of his old life with Bruce. It was like he was watching with all three of them. It was really, really nice.
Then, Simba's dad died.
If he had died any other way, Dick was certain he would have been fine (Because really, seven months was enough time to mourn, right? Only a crybaby would still be sensitive after all that time. . .). If they had watched it on any other day, he thought he might have been okay too. Possibly (it was just such a similar death, that was all. . . he would have been fine otherwise, really. . .)
But it didn't work out that way. It was May 9th and Mufasa was dangling off the edge of a cliff (his dad had dangled some 40 feet above the ground his entire life, so why should he have worried?). Simba was on another cliff edge, watching from a distance (his dad had been on the opposite side of the trapeze and he didn't hug him or kiss him or tell him he loved him because he was right there, still in his sights, and he didn't seem so far away, at the time, and it would have been stupid to do all that but he regretted it, and that was stupid, but he couldn't help it and he was sorry, he was so so so sorry. . .). Simba started screaming (weird, how alike him and Simba sounded. . .) but it did no good as Mufasa's body hit the ground (he could hear it, through the screaming, the crack of bones as spines snapped and limbs broke, the thud of their bodies, he could hear it so clearly, all the time, he could hear it. . .).
Dick didn't realize he was screaming until Bruce took a hold of him and crushed him to his chest, threading a hand through his hair and speaking soft words he couldn't bother trying to comprehend. Somehow the movie had been turned off and the only sounds in the room were that of Bruce's voice and his own hoarse sobs (When did he start crying? He was too old for this and Bruce must be so ashamed and he was so weak, so stupid and so so weak. . .).
"I'm sorry," he choked out, fisting Bruce's shirt and burying his face deep in his chest. "I didn't remember. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. . ." He didn't remember. How could he not remember! The Lion King had been his favorite and here it was a cartoon about murder. What kind of demented three year old was he? Simba's dad was a good dad. He was such a good dad. Such a perfect, wonderful, amazing dad and he never got to say goodbye or I love you and he was such a good, good dad. . .
Bruce was making shushing noises and stroking his back. "Don't be sorry, Dick. It's okay, I'm here. I'm right here."
Bruce had turned the lights on at some point and when he finally pulled away from his mentor, face blotchy and eyes rimmed in red, the assault of light made him wince. He sniffed miserably and kept his head down, letting his shame and embarrassment wash over him. Bruce gripped his shoulders.
"Today's his birthday," he whispered. His voice was wrecked from crying; he wasn't entirely sure the words had come out at all.
Bruce stayed silent.
"That's why I've been acting funny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't remember that. . . that happened. I should have. . . I didn't mean to. . . I'm so sorry. . . Bruce. I'm so sorry. . ."
"I ran away, on my father's birthday."
Dick glanced up hesitantly. "What?"
"There was always a big celebration for both of my parents' birthdays, since they were so well liked. Then, one year, there was no celebration. No one came to the house, no gifts came in the mail. I had no one to buy a gift or card for. No one to wish happy birthday to."
"It's like a big blow to the face, right? Worse than Christmas."
Bruce nodded, smiling gently. "Much worse."
"Because Christmas is acknowledged. But birthdays, everyone forgets those! And then suddenly, you're the only one who remembers and you're the only one who cares and it's so real and you just feel like, like. . ."
"Like your parents just died, all over again?"
Dick nodded and let Bruce wipe a stray tear from his eye. "Yeah. Exactly."
"Come on," Bruce said, standing up, "Alfred's out on errands, so if we're quick, we may be able to get a bowl of ice cream before he gets back."
Dick stood up after him and Bruce placed a hand on his back, steering him from the room. "He'll still know we ate it. . ."
"But he won't be able to stop us."
Dick thought about that. It made sense. It made a lot of sense, really. "Okay. Yeah, ice cream sounds good."
They walked down the hall together, Bruce's large hand on his back serving as a warm reminder that he wasn't alone. "Dick? How would you feel about having your parents moved to the family graveyard out back? I know you probably don't want to disturb them, but I'm sure they'd like being nearby. You could visit them more easily."
Dick frowned. "But they're not your family."
Bruce stopped and Dick stopped with him, glancing up at him curiously.
"They are my family, Dick. Just like you. It doesn't really matter that I've never met them, does it? We still share a son."
Dick watched him for a few seconds before a smile slowly spread across his face. "Yeah, I guess that's true," he leaned against Bruce's side as the hand on his back moved to his shoulder, holding him close, "Thanks Bruce. I'd really like that."
May 9th was a sad day, for Dick Grayson. It always would be.
"Did you really run away?"
Bruce's lips twitched upward. "Alfred was a wreck. You should have seen him."
But things could be worse. At least he wasn't alone.
Dick was tired.
Not just a little tired either, but really really tired. Like, standing up was a conscious effort tired. It was his own fault though, really. He had a precious night free from patrol and, instead of sleeping, he stayed up all night long to bake. And if that wasn't ludicrous enough, he was now on his way to the home of one Wally West, the single most non-tired person in existence. Going to Wally's in this state could almost be considered self-abusive.
But Wally also happened to be the single most gluttonous person in existence which, taking into consideration the picnic basket FULL of baked goods under his arm, made him just the person Dick needed right now.
He and Wally had been best friends for almost a year now, but he had only been to the other's house (well, actually it was his uncle's house, but he was there more than his actual house, so. . .) a few times. Bruce had made him special sunglasses (they were laced with freaking lead) to wear when he visited, to hid his identity. It was aggravating, but he could deal.
The door opened mere seconds after he knocked, which wasn't really too surprising. It was a house of speedsters, after all.
"Robin! Hey man, come in!" Wally exclaimed ecstatically, dragging the smaller boy inside. His eyes flickered to the basket. "Did you bring me a basket full of goodies, little red riding hood?"
Dick smiled lazily and walked with Wally to the kitchen, placing the basket on the table. "Actually, yes. I bought some strawberries, but I bought waaaaay too much. I've been baking for hours trying to get rid of them all. I can't eat it all by myself, so. . ."
"Say no more." Wally gripped both his shoulders and stared him seriously in the eye. "I'm going to help you Robin. I promise." He kept his face serious for a few more seconds before a large grin overtook his face. "So what'd you make? I hope it's not awful."
Dick rolled his eyes and pushed him off so he could unload the basket. Wally watched enthralled as a strawberry tart, strawberry short cake, strawberry creme cake, strawberry trifle, and strawberry crepes overtook his kitchen table. Finally, Dick pulled out a medium sized thermos and a small container full of plain strawberries. He handed Wally the thermos.
"Strawberry smoothie. Do you have any whipped cream?"
Dumbfounded, all Wally could do was nod. "In the fridge. . ."
Dick thanked him and, pushing him out of the way, crossed to the fridge and started rummaging through it for the whipped cream. Once he found it he plopped the container down on the table and sat down. "You okay there Wals?"
"Rob I. . . I think I may love you."
Dick laughed and popped the lids off the whipped cream and the strawberries. "Well, at least I know what to do now if you ever get mad at me. You give the saying 'A way to a man's heart is through his stomach' a whole new meaning. Hope whoever you marry likes to cook." He dipped a strawberry into the creamy topping and popped it in his mouth. Wally finally sat down across from him (not before grabbing a fork) and started to unscrew the lid off his smoothie.
"Well, what if I start pretending to be mad at you, just to get food?"
Dick snorted. "Please. I think I know you well enough to tell when you're actually mad. And you should know me enough to know I'm not that easy to trick."
Wally huffed but didn't dispute him as he took a swig of his smoothie then started digging in. He moaned loudly. "My god Rob, you made all this yourself! This is amazing man!"
Dick crinkled his nose in distaste. "Want to know how you can thank me?"
Wally stopped eating and looked at him expectantly.
"Close your mouth when you eat."
Wally made a face and opened his mouth as wide as he could before shoveling in some cake and chewing obnoxiously. "Ike is? Omnomnomnom!"
"Eww dude, that's nasty!" Dick threw a strawberry at him, hitting him in the forehead. Wally swallowed then stuck his tongue out at him.
"Who's nasty? I'll have you know I'm the single most smexy man alive."
"Smexy? Seriously? Who says that anymore?"
"Lots of people, that's who! Don't be jealous!" Wally picked a strawberry off the shortcake and flicked it at him. "So, since when did you start baking?"
Dick caught the strawberry before it hit him and popped it in his mouth. "I don't know. How do you know I don't bake all the time?"
"We've been best friends for a year, man. I think I would notice if you were some sort of bake master extreme," Wally said, taking a large swig of the smoothie then starting on the trifle.
"You wouldn't know if I was baking at home," he pointed out, "I could be baking every day and just not telling you."
"Duuuuude, don't say that! That would be so uncool! You're not actually doing that, are you?"
Dick laughed softly and dipped his finger in the whipped cream. "No, I'm not. I would never bake stuff then not share it with you."
Wally didn't look convinced. "Promise?"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise. Now stop pouting."
"Dude! I am NOT pouting. You just broke the bff code!"
Elbow on the table, Dick pillowed his chin in his hand and stifled a yawn. "Bff code?"
"Yeah man! Men do NOT pout. As bff's, we must never ever ever call each other out on pouting!" A pause. "Or crying! Or going through a voice change. Stuff like that! That's just the way things are!"
Dick smiled lazily. "You're just saying that cause your voice keeps cracking."
Wally frowned. "Yeah? Well just wait until you're thirteen . . not that mine is cracking anyway. Cause it's not."
Dick made a slight noise of agreement, too tired to argue.
"I know, I know, I'm agreeing with you. Your voice isn't cracking. You sound very manly, Wals. Like a. . .caveman."
Wally fell quiet, as if he was trying to decide if he liked that answer or not. "Smexy caveman," he finally grumbled, poking at the tart, "And besides, if either of us is pouting, it's you."
Dick furrowed his eyebrows, waking up just a little. "What do you mean?"
"You're acting different. Is something wrong?" It was a serious question, Dick could tell. He grew quiet and started playing with the strawberries before him.
"No. Nothing's wrong," he mumbled.
"Come on Rob, don't give me that," Wally said, rolling his eyes, "I know you. Did something happen?"
Did something happen? Yes? No? Sort of? "No," he finally settled on, "not really. It's just. . . one of those days, you know?"
"I guess. . ." He didn't seem happy with the answer, but he let it go. "How long did you spend making all this stuff anyway? It must have taken you forever."
Dick shrugged, feeling slightly apprehensive. "A while, I guess. . . a long while. There were a lot of strawberries. . . a lot of strawberries."
"Well, why did you buy so many?"
Dick turned his gaze to the table. "They're my favorite. I guess I was just. . . overzealous." Wally didn't need to know they were also his mother's favorite, or that every summer she would buy as many strawberries as she could get her hands on and make all kinds of strawberry deserts for the troupe. She would let him help, always, calling him her 'little helper,' and every July 17th, his dad and he would work together to make her some fancy strawberry dessert. Sometimes it was a disaster, sometimes it wasn't. "Where's your aunt and uncle?"
Wally didn't look happy with the change of subject but he didn't say anything. "They went grocery shopping. I'm not allowed to come anymore. Aunt Iris said they spend more when I go." He pouted (enthusiastically frowned, whatever).
"Well maybe if you didn't sneak stuff in the cart. . ."
"I don't sneak! I'm so obvious about it! It's not my fault they don't pay attention to me. They should know my stomach has my body under mind control when I'm surrounded by food!"
It never took Wally long to eat anything, so it wasn't long before all that was left was a few of the strawberries Dick had been picking at. He closed the whipped cream container.
"Hey Wals, you don't mind if I take the rest of these strawberries home, do you?"
Wally raised an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided grin. "You're asking permission to take home your own food?"
Dick laughed quietly and replaced the lid to the strawberries before placing them in the basket. "Yeah. Guess that is kind of weird, huh?"
Wally watched him silently for a few seconds. "Rob. . . if things aren't cool at home, you can crash in my room for a while, if you want."
Dick looked up in surprise. "What? No, no. Nothing's wrong at home. I'm just. . ." he sighed, "I'm fine. Thanks though, Wally."
Wally tried to smile but it didn't reach his eyes. "Can I run you home?"
"Wally. . ."
"Not all the way! Just until, I don't know. Just tell me where to go and then whoever dropped you off here can pick you up there. It'll be a way shorter drive. Come on Rob."
Bruce would have wanted him to say no, but. . . a shorter ride home did sound nice.
"Fine, fine. As long as no one sees us, I guess it's okay."
"Not to worry Rob, I'm a pro!" He disappeared for a second then reappeared in front of Dick, snapping on his goggles. "Just tell me where to go!"
He ended up directing him to an alleyway close to Babs' school. He fell asleep twice on the way, hands clasped firmly across Wally's chest and face buried between his shoulder blades, and had to be awakened in order to provide directions. In no time at all he found himself climbing off Wally's back.
"Don't mention it. Thanks for feeding me." He grinned. "You're going to make an excellent housewife someday, boy wonder."
Wally smiled in bemusement and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Go home and get some rest, man. You need it."
"I will. See you Wally."
And then he was gone. Pulling out his cell phone, Dick pressed two and leaned against a wall as he listened to the phone ring.
"Alf? Hey, could you come pick me up? I'm at Barbara's school. . . . No, Wally brought me. . . Well yeah, but we don't have to tell him that, Alf. . . Okay, thanks. See you soon."
Alfred was there in record timing, which was good because Dick felt like he was going to pass out any second now.
"Shall you be going to bed now, Master Richard?" It was a firm suggestion disguised as a question. Alfred was such a mother hen sometimes.
"In a bit, Alfie. I want to visit the graveyard real quick first."
Alfred nodded. "Of course, Master Richard."
Alfred left and Dick went to the side entrance that exited out onto the path leading to the Wayne family graveyard. On his way out he placed the basket in the kitchen but brought the container of strawberries with him.
It only took a few minutes before he found himself in front of the familiar gravestone, clearly marked for Mary and John Grayson. He took the remaining strawberries from the container and laid them carefully on the ground before the massive stone.
"Happy Birthday, Mom."
It was raining.
It may have seemed appropriate to some, but Dick was realistic enough to find it bothersome. It wasn't raining because it was October 23rd. If nature was that sentimental, it would have rained on the day of the funeral. But it didn't. In fact, that day sixteen years ago, when he watched his entire universe disappear into the earth, was arguably the most beautiful day of the month.
No, it was raining now purely out of coincidence, and Dick thought it was horribly inconvenient. He wrapped his arms tighter around his legs and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the occasional tremors running through his body and the goose flesh littering his arms. It was cold. It was cold and he was wet, and that was inconvenient, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Not now, not tonight.
He glanced down at his watch. 9:15pm. The latest showing of Haley's circus in Gotham ended at 10, and The Flying Grayson act went on at 9. At 9:15 his parents were most likely either falling, or already splattered across the ground. . .
He tilted his head up to gaze at the large stone looming above him. "I'm happy. I miss you both. . . I miss you so much, every day, but I am happy. So please don't worry about me. . . and it's just rain Mom, I'm not going to die sitting out here, so don't even bother getting worked up about it."
There was no response, of course. There never was, but that didn't matter. Dick imagined the day of their death was a rough time for his parents, and he wanted to be there for them, if only for a little while. It was something he did every year.
Soft footsteps sloshing through the wet ground sounded behind him but he didn't bother turning around, even when an umbrella appeared above him, sheltering him from the rain.
"Hey there little kitty, you're getting all wet."
Dick didn't show any sign of acknowledgment as Wally crouched down next to him, keeping the umbrella over them both.
"Are you a stray?"
Dick turned to look at him, burying half his face in his shoulder. He gave a small nod and Wally smiled.
"How'd you like to come home with me then? Get out of the rain. I can take good care of you, you know."
He didn't bother trying to stifle the smile that spread across his face. "Meow."
Wally laughed. It was a nice sound, familiar and comforting. "Here hold this," he said, handing Dick the umbrella. Dick held it up and didn't put up a fight as Wally scooped him up bridal style. "Ready to go home, little kitty?"
Dick meowed again and nuzzled against Wally's neck. Wally chuckled lightly and gave him an Eskimo kiss, followed by a quick peck to the nose, before taking off at sound speed toward their home in Central.
He came to halt right in front of the door to their apartment. "I have a surprise for you inside."
Dick made a purring noise and started licking Wally's neck, mewling slightly.
Wally moaned lightly and pulled away from him. "Down, kitty-kitty. There'll be plenty of time for you to give me a bath later."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "You're postponing me? This surprise must be something else."
Wally smiled and kissed his forehead before setting him on his feet and opening the door. "Oh, it is." He quickly shut the door behind them and grabbed Dick by the shoulders. "Okay, stay right here!" He zipped into another room but was back before Dick could scarcely blink. "Actually, no, I changed my mind. Come with me. But close your eyes!"
"Wally. . ."
"Close your eeeeyes! And no peeking!" He pursed his lips. "Maybe I should get the blindfold out of the bedroom. . ."
Dick rolled his eyes then clenched them firmly shut. "I don't need a blindfold. I promise I won't look."
Wally seemed to hesitate for a few seconds but finally he grabbed his hands and started pulling him forward. "Okay, but I'm trusting you! Oh! Hold on, wait right here! Okay, I'm back." A weight was placed on his head as Wally started toweling him dry. "Don't want you to get sick or anything. . . or drip on the carpets." The towel was tossed aside and then Wally was dragging him forward again. Dick frowned.
"Did you just throw a towel on the floor?"
"I'll put it in the hamper later."
Dick stayed silent.
"Ugh, I promise I'll put it in the hamper later!"
"Okay, but I'm trusting you!" Dick mocked as he was coaxed into sitting down on what he presumed was their couch. Wally flicked his nose.
"Watch it mister, or you won't get your surprise."
Dick sighed. "Okay, okay, I'll be good. What's my surprise?"
He could practically hear the grin in Wally's voice when he spoke. "Hold on, I have to get it from the other room. Keep your eyes closed!" Dick heard footsteps, meaning Wally was actually walking to whatever room he was going to like a normal person. The footsteps returned moments later.
"Are you peeking?"
Dick chuckled, an amused smile lighting his face. "No Wally, I'm not peeking. I swear."
Some more footsteps, then: "Okay, open."
He opened his eyes to see Wally sitting across from him on their coffee table. In his arms was a tiny orange kitten with a gigantic green bow tied around its neck. The smile quickly faded from Dick's face as his expression morphed into one of slight shock and surprise.
"Wally. . ."
His boyfriend's smile could almost be considered bashful. "I know it's a weird day for a present, but I wanted to make you feel better. I searched all day long until I found him. He's a Gothamnite, just like you. I thought you'd prefer it that way."
All day? But. . ."But it's been raining all day. . ."
Wally shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. "Well, yeah. But this little guy sure was happy to get dry! Isn't that right, buddy?" He held the little cat out in front of him with one hand and picked up its paw with the other, forcing it to wave at Dick. "Hi Dick," he said, raising his voice an octave, "I wanna be your new kitty-cat, cause I think you're puuuuurfect!"
Dick laughed. "You're such a corndog, Wally," he said, grinning widely. He carefully took the kitten from Wally and gazed at it fondly. He fingered the bow lightly. Green, his favorite color, just like the uniforms he and his parents used to wear.
"He's a ginger, just like you," he commented, placing a finger by the kitten's nose. It sniffed him for a second then licked his finger, meowing.
"Hey now, none of that ginger talk! We resent that!" He leaned forward to scratch behind the kitten's ears. "Don't we little buddy?"
Wally glanced up and immediately his lips were captured in a swift kiss. Breaking away, Dick rested his forehead against Wally's. "I love you."
Wally smiled gently and brought a hand up to Dick's cheek, slowing tracing circles on it with his thumb. "I love you too, Dick."
They held each other's gaze for a moment, just content to be together, but then a small smirk worked its way onto Wally's face. "Soooo, about that 'bath' you wanted to give me earlier. . ."
Between them, the kitten meowed as it tried to climb up Dick's chest. It got about halfway before falling off and rolling back into his lap. Dick scooped it up and stood, walking away from Wally.
"Please Wally," he said, heading toward the kitchen, "There's a baby in the house now. We can't have any of that."
Wally's jaw dropped. "What! Dude, that's not fair!"
Dick smirked as he sauntered back over to Wally, bending down so that their noses were nearly touching. "You're pouting, dear," he said, giving Wally a quick kiss before turning around and heading back toward the kitchen.
Once upon a time, Dick Grayson lived in a world known as The Flying Graysons. On October 23rd, that world was taken from him. . .
"Diiiiiick," Wally whined, standing up to follow after his boyfriend. He chased him into the kitchen, determined to corner him. "Come on Dick, I just want a kiss!"
. . . but things weren't that bad, not really. He had a new world now. This one was known as Wally West. . .
"You just got one!" he yelled, cradling his new pet to his chest as he expertly maneuvered around the kitchen, dodging Wally's grasp.
"I want a longer one!"
. . . and Wally West was, as far as Dick was concerned, a perfect world.
Oh Wally, you're such an affectionate little snugglemuffin. . .
As usual, please point any spelling/grammatical errors and whatnot. I've been pretty tired lately, so it's very possible I missed stuff.
I hope this clears up all the questions you guys had about Robbie-poo's little quirks!
Reviews will make me smile! =D