Dick Grayson has to deal with the sudden disappearance of his lover best friend, Wally West. And the bad news is... no one else seems to know he existed.
(If you can find any way to make this end on a happy note, I would love you always.)
Anamnesis [1/ ]
anonymous
September 27 2011, 19:21:13 UTC
X
The feeling is like waking up at two in the morning in a cold sweat and realizing something is amiss-maybe it was stupid, like leaving the back porch light on, or not setting the alarm for seven am.
But it keeps weighing down on his thoughts-gnawing on the bottom of his stomach, gnawing at the walls of his throat-and, finally, when he realizes it's not stupid at all… the feeling only worsens.
X
"The poem is like a metaphor…" Dick insisted tranquilly, smacking Wally's drooled-on pencil out of his mouth soundly-" -The hell, man!- "-and pointed to the text of page with a challenging edge to blue eyes, "LOOK or I'm not helping you anymore… 'anyone lived in a pretty how town (up so floating many bells down)¹'…it's talking about people growing up… and 'noone' loved him…"
X
There are graves for people Dick has no prior knowledge about.
But he feels he should know, staring down at the marble headstones when early morning sunlight etches into the engraved words: "Donna Troy" "Rachel Roth" "Bart Allen" among others
( ... )
Anamnesis [2/ ]
anonymous
September 27 2011, 19:27:21 UTC
Wally rubs his head, frowning up at him with a semi-accusing look. "How do you even know this stuff?"
"I liked the poem as a kid. On top of school, Alfie tutored me in books by Andrew Marvell, Emily Bronte, Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, people like that…" An uncomfortable pause. Dick grinned, touching the nape of his neck exposed by the collar of his jersey and scratching there. "Since I'm not really good at numbers… it's a little easier when I'm working with the meaning of words…"
"Sure, whatever, Boy Wonderful," Wally laughs, careless and young as he is, and excitable as he tugs the other teenager into his lap with a low, hungry noise-roaming one of his hands to push up under Dick's jersey. Warm skin eagerly palms a scarred abdomen. "You're good at everything…"
XTheir breathing shudders quietly in different rhythms when they come down from euphoria
( ... )
Anamnesis [1/3]
anonymous
September 27 2011, 19:29:32 UTC
sorry...numbered the previous title weird... also: ¹ - Excerpt from e.e. cummings poem "anyone lived in a pretty how town"
The feeling is like understanding that everyone else on the planet is walking around with a fat ribbon tied stiffly around their eyes… and they won't even recognize it.
Dick kicks up the autumn leaves in England, thickly coating the long terraced walk from the beeches and sweet chestnuts and cedars, and wonders momentarily if returning to the penthouse is worth getting those stares from Bruce and Alfred and Damian much longer. Like something is wrong with him. Like he's gone unhinged. He's not. It's just… they didn't remember him… his best friend.
He mumbles something offhandedly to someone in a plaid jacket when their shoulders collide on the walk-flaming red hair; a goofball expression-and Dick instinctively snatches the man's wrist.
Everything had lightened. And Dick had missed it somehow
( ... )
Re: Anamnesis [1/3]
anonymous
September 28 2011, 02:31:13 UTC
♥ OP loves you, anon. I love that it's short and still very sweet, with all these precious little moments everywhere~ Even if the foreshadowing of Kory breaks my heart, and the bewildered, confused Barry is like a kick in the gut. T_T feeeelings. ♥
I also adore the hint of book nerdiness. Hooray for classic literature!
(..And I'm assuming this last part was meant to be titled, "3/3"?) :')
(If you can find any way to make this end on a happy note, I would love you always.)
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The feeling is like waking up at two in the morning in a cold sweat and realizing something is amiss-maybe it was stupid, like leaving the back porch light on, or not setting the alarm for seven am.
But it keeps weighing down on his thoughts-gnawing on the bottom of his stomach, gnawing at the walls of his throat-and, finally, when he realizes it's not stupid at all… the feeling only worsens.
X
"The poem is like a metaphor…" Dick insisted tranquilly, smacking Wally's drooled-on pencil out of his mouth soundly-" -The hell, man!- "-and pointed to the text of page with a challenging edge to blue eyes, "LOOK or I'm not helping you anymore… 'anyone lived in a pretty how town (up so floating many bells down)¹'…it's talking about people growing up… and 'noone' loved him…"
X
There are graves for people Dick has no prior knowledge about.
But he feels he should know, staring down at the marble headstones when early morning sunlight etches into the engraved words: "Donna Troy" "Rachel Roth" "Bart Allen" among others ( ... )
Reply
"I liked the poem as a kid. On top of school, Alfie tutored me in books by Andrew Marvell, Emily Bronte, Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, people like that…" An uncomfortable pause. Dick grinned, touching the nape of his neck exposed by the collar of his jersey and scratching there. "Since I'm not really good at numbers… it's a little easier when I'm working with the meaning of words…"
"Sure, whatever, Boy Wonderful," Wally laughs, careless and young as he is, and excitable as he tugs the other teenager into his lap with a low, hungry noise-roaming one of his hands to push up under Dick's jersey. Warm skin eagerly palms a scarred abdomen. "You're good at everything…"
XTheir breathing shudders quietly in different rhythms when they come down from euphoria ( ... )
Reply
The feeling is like understanding that everyone else on the planet is walking around with a fat ribbon tied stiffly around their eyes… and they won't even recognize it.
Dick kicks up the autumn leaves in England, thickly coating the long terraced walk from the beeches and sweet chestnuts and cedars, and wonders momentarily if returning to the penthouse is worth getting those stares from Bruce and Alfred and Damian much longer. Like something is wrong with him. Like he's gone unhinged. He's not. It's just… they didn't remember him… his best friend.
He mumbles something offhandedly to someone in a plaid jacket when their shoulders collide on the walk-flaming red hair; a goofball expression-and Dick instinctively snatches the man's wrist.
Everything had lightened. And Dick had missed it somehow ( ... )
Reply
I also adore the hint of book nerdiness. Hooray for classic literature!
(..And I'm assuming this last part was meant to be titled, "3/3"?) :')
Reply
uhuuu wallyyyy :c
and Dick, baby, omg. This was so lovely.
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Barry almost made me start bawling cause cause no.
*heart*
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