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Title: Yours
Author: Tyrror
Pairing: Implied Dick/Wally (Robin/Kid Flash)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Temporary character death, implied slash
Summary: Death was nothing at all what Dick Grayson assumed it might be like. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t dark, and it certainly wasn’t terrifying. In fact, it didn’t appear to be much of anything at all. Just a never ending sensation of Grey which was every so often blotted out by a slightly more grey shade of grey. He thought that sensation fit better than color because it wasn’t just that the space was grey nor the fact that it had no boundries, more that it actually seemed to FEEL grey…and that was the odd part.



Death was nothing at all what Dick Grayson assumed it might be like. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t dark, and it certainly wasn’t terrifying. In fact, it didn’t appear to be much of anything at all. Just a never ending sensation of Grey which was every so often blotted out by a slightly more grey shade of grey. He thought that sensation fit better than color because it wasn’t just that the space was grey nor the fact that it had no boundries, more that it actually seemed to FEEL grey…and that was the odd part.

Something inside him, perhaps a natural sense of proprioception, told him he was moving and not at all slowly, but he found that likelihood to be slim considering his distinct lack of body. Still, movement was movement and he assumed that he must be going SOMEWHERE, though he had no idea where, and only hoped with a dull interest that it might be somewhere slightly less gray. Maybe a nice shade of yellow. He had a feeling he liked yellow, though he couldn’t quite recall why.

That was when he felt it for the first time. He had no idea how long he had been dead, or at least he was still assuming he was dead, you know, lack of body and all, but time became very relevant when he felt the pain. It was deep, and penetrating…somewhere in the chest he didn’t have and it tinted the grey around him a steady shade of darkening red that was nothing if not worrisome.

A hand that didn’t exist reached for a chest that wasn’t there but was hurting and the solid color around him started to break. Jagged cracks of silver-white in the endless, eternal blood-red-grey that was death opened with a silent start like broken glass in a movie with the sound turned down. And then, against all logic, ears that he didn’t have anymore began to hear.

It was just one word. One simple, single syllable chanted over and over again by a dimly familiar voice like a mantra to push back the dark. ‘One word to rule them all’ he thought for a moment for reasons he couldn’t quite remember but for which he was rather certain he would have laughed…if he’d had a mouth…or lungs, but the thought faded and he decided to listen again to the single word.

‘No’

Tumbling over itself like water in rapids, he wondered briefly what needed to be so vehemently denied that pausing for breath seemed out of the question.

‘Nonononononononononononono…’

The word trailed on into the grey around him, swimming through the streaks of red and gashes of white, out behind him and forever before him, as if it consumed all of time and space in a single breath. He listened closer to the single word and the cracking voice that whispered it like a scream, like a prayer, like a curse.

And then he opened his eyes.

The pain in his chest stabbed in unison with the pain in his head when the light hit his retinas, causing him to close his eyes again as much as possible without relenting to seal them all the way. The world was a blur of red and yellow, white and silver, glaring around him and rushing past at a speed he was fairly certain it wasn’t safe to be moving at. However that concern was preceded by the fact that he could feel his hands again, and with that, he could feel how one of them clutched uselessly at the hole that had once been his chest.

Glancing down as best he could without raising his neck, for he wasn’t sure he could, he could see it in all its glory. Red like raw meat and spattered with blood that seemed to cover most of the rest of him as well as the steel-solid arms that held him. His face was pressed into an insignia he now realized he knew all too well and he opened his mouth to speak the other boy’s name, but nothing came out. He realized with chilling suddenness that no air passed his lips not only going out, but going in, and he glanced down again at the hole in his chest, inside himself, where his lungs didn’t move and his heart didn’t beat.

Panic began to set in as the grey finally cleared all the way and reality became technicolor once more before, to the tune between amazement and abject horror, his skin began to knit itself closed. Pain lanced through him once again and, with an unfamiliar jolt, the world began to pulse as his heart started once again. With a choking gasp, blood coughed its way onto the yellow-red spandex the filled his vision and one word tumbled from his mouth in a frightened plea.

“Wally…”

The world stopped. The wind screaming past him fell still as the speedster slammed to a halt and the both tumbled onto pavement, onto dirt and stone and asphalt and he rolled within the others’ grasp to lie on his side facing the other way. The boy at his back breathed raggedly, an audible companion to the Robin’s ragged thoughts that ran, half finished through his mind in an attempt to explain what could possibly have just happened when he saw it with his own eyes.

At the other end of the block, shrouded in darkness and caution, a boy wearing a domino mask and cape he new all to well stepped into the intersection to the sound of a shot. Like the last scene in a sad movie, he watched as the other Robin started, reached dully for his chest, and collapsed. A single word rang through the streets like thunder and in a flash of yellow and red, the body was gone.

‘No’

The boy behind him croaked, a gasping, choked sound as he continued to simply work on breathing and Dick’s mind slowly began to work again.

“Wally,” he started, his own voice hoarse and tasting of metal, “you…”

“He outran time.”

The new voice was dark and steady, perfect compatriot to the form which landed next to them and perfect counterpoint to the streak of red that skidded to a halt at his side.

“And could have killed himself.”

The new figure lashed out, voice caught between rage and worry.

“I can live with that.”

The boy behind him whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear over the oppressing silence of two angry glares. Slow and stiff, with all the effort it would seem to move mountains, the arm that still draped over Dick’s body pulled him back, pressed the redhead’s face into his neck and their bodies together in a position that was far from lacking in intimacy.

“Mine,” he muttered into the skin where his lips rested just above Dick’s collar, his body starting to shake.

Slowly, with a little strength as he seemed to have regained, Robin lifted a blood-spattered gauntlet over the arm that held him, his fingers intertwining with the other boy’s in a silent response.

‘Yours…’

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December 2012

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