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Wakefulness was a bitch. One that barked up his tree and chewed on his brain with its slobbery, fishy mouth.
Not for the first time, he had a nagging feeling that his namesake applied to something other than his alias. Geez, Dick , his throbbing head whined unhelpfully, which wrong side of the planet did you wake up from this time?
His body was lying flat against a rough, unfamiliar surface, his twitching fingers digging through a soft layer of something that suspiciously felt like sand. Names of several planets came to mind almost instantly, but without any further information, they were practically redundant. He visited a handful of them, sure; yet in the vast galaxy and the worlds that laid beyond, it could be any of them.
“ Ring ,” was the only word he got out before he clamped his mouth shut, shuddering.
Dick failed to hide the tremble from the hoarseness of his own voice. His entire throat and mouth felt as if he’d inhaled a desert and then some; the tender flesh inflamed from the lack of moisture. The discomfort itself was alarming, as the ring perpetually maintained his body in an optimal—or at least, functional—capacity. Dehydration was one of the ‘disadvantages’ that it eliminated first and foremost, just below hunger and waste excretion. To experience both lasting physical pain and dehydration was a testament to how long he had been powered down.
Was he compromised? Captive? Struck by an unknown illness that bypassed the ring’s barriers? Despite the fog weighing heavily in his mind, he tried to recall what had transpired that landed him in his current situation... to come up empty.
Dick’s eyelids flew open, sitting upright so fast his spine practically snapped in half. Painstakingly, he rose to his feet, leaning on the wall for support as he dragged himself to the whelmingly, unguarded, conventional entrance.
There were no guards or graveyards. Only a sea of desert sand that reached as far as the eye could see, the horizon stark and clear against the windless sky. The situation was so absurdly normal (or as normal as it can be) that he was spinning from whiplash.
A low rumble, a humming engine had his ears twitching. Instinctively, he pressed his body against the cave walls, noting with an almost detached interest as a military-grade jeep drove across the desert and past him, kicking up sand and smoke in its wake. It was riddled with armed soldiers, all sporting military uniforms he didn’t recognize.
Soldiers. Human soldiers.
“Ring,” he repeated, clearer with the barest note of desperation, “where am I?”
Dutifully, the alien device on his left hand flickered to life upon his command. It was faint, muffled from its weakened state, though that was to be expected given his current circumstances. Which, at a first glance, he could only assume was anything but sunshine and rainbows.
Warning , it hummed monotonously, Battery on 14%.
Oh, like things couldn’t get any worse, could they? Dick certainly felt like he was in an episode of Murphy’s Law, where if anything could go wrong, they did and took a nosedive straight into the place with a Capital H.
You are located in Sector 2814, Planet Earth , it said. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock. Earth? What was he doing on Earth of all places? Bialya, North of Iran and Saudi Arabia.
Forget Earth. What was he doing in Bialya , of all places? One moment he’d been playing the universe’s most dangerous game of hot potato with Atrocitus, the next he was in some desolate wasteland in the middle of nowhere.
Though his head was scrambled, the clearest memory he could remember was of him leaving Earth, not the other way around. He couldn’t remember exactly why , the details fuzzy and frail like a reflection in the water. The emotions attached to them, however, told a different story. It was just as vibrant, if not more than the picturesque image of his home planet drifting among a sea of stars, its bright, the planet gradually fading in with them as he flew far, far away – becoming just another speck in the dark backdrop.
Anger. Bitterness. Grief. Brief flashes of hope, disastrously stamped out by the fury burning in his veins. It burned brighter than the sun, the stars around him and perhaps even himself. He had been a boy with flames too big for his small body, so it ate away at his skin and burst from his throat until he burned away.
The ring then rattled off the date. His eyes opened impossibly wider, the fabric of his mask stretching to its limit to accommodate his drastic change in facial expression. The discrepancies in his memories were so large that the bright costume he was wearing seemed like the least of his problems. Who would put him back in this costume in the first place? How? And why ?
Six months! Bewildered, he held his head and racked his brain for answers. Answers that refused to come to him, just like his memories. Six whole months! Definitely not feeling the aster.
A sudden urge to feel flesh crumple against his fists crashed into his chest, red hot and nigh impossible to ignore nor push away. A balloon of fury and vengefulness and frustration blew up and up in his lungs, his dry throat heating up with the promise of spewing more than just the F-word.
Something had happened to his memory, but he didn’t need them to know something had gone wrong. A plan, a ritual or some type of messed up birthday party, he didn’t care. Dick was going to find out who was responsible, crack some skulls and whether if they believed in God.
Wally was not having a good time.
Between waking up with spontaneous amnesia, an empty stomach, a Green Arrow fan, and the baking desert heat, he figured that if rock bottom had a physical manifestation, it would be this.
At the very least, the new suit looked cool? Black’s not a color that screams Flash at him, but he was Wally and he rocked anything. That, or he joined the dark side and their tirade of evilness, and got stuck with their aesthetic that never evolved beyond Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. The possibility was miniscule, but never nonzero.
“I can’t contact anyone,” Wally mourned after patting himself down for his belongings. “Whoever put us in that place must’ve cleaned us out.”
Other than an emergency comm built into his cowl, which Arrow Girl didn’t need to know, he’s stripped of his usual electronics and beacons that he usually brought along. One of them had been a distress beacon with a direct line to Uncle Barry, which would be useful right about now.
“Neither can I,” said the girl, who had neglected to give her name even after he saved her from a handful of tanks and a raging metahuman. “Are you sure you don’t know where we are?”
Wally pursed his lip. They were walking through the desert at a frustratingly normal speed, which had him itching to tear his own hair out. Coupled with the baking heat working against them, he wasn’t sure how far they could make it before they succumbed to the elements. Judging from the girl’s reddening skin and the increasing irritation furrowing her brow, he had an inkling she agreed.
“Usually I’d pick a direction and start running.” He put a hand on his stomach, wincing at the growl and the growing hunger pangs. “That’s not an option now; not with my reserves running on zero.”
The girl snorted. “Metas,” she grumbled. “Always an unreliable bunch.”
“Hey!” Wally protested instinctively. “It’s not like I dumped us in the middle of nowhere, okay? If it were up to me, I’d drop us off someplace more fun; like Hawaii, or something.”
She turned to him to fire off a retort, but her entire body paused in motion the same time a girl’s voice rang in his head.
Don’t worry! it called. He’d met plenty of girls in his time as a superhero, but he couldn’t remember any of them having the power of telepathy. I’m almost there!
“Did you just hear a girl’s voice in your head?” the physical girl demanded, appalled.
Yes , was what he wanted to say. “Girls are usually on my mind,” was what he said instead. “But they’re usually not... talking.”
Her expression promised him the fate of a slow, painful murder. He whistled and shrugged innocently, resisting the urge to cackle wildly.
Before she could enact her plan of revenge, an approaching figure caught his eyes from the sky. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? Wrong. It was Martian Manhunter, with curves in his body and brown hair under his hood. Woah, was it weird to think that he looked pretty? Like, the nerdy, cutesy type you’d see in those shows where they leaned heavily into the preppy high school stereotype.
Pause. That was Uncle J’onn he was thinking about. Bad Wally!
“Hiya, J’onn!” Wally greeted. “What’s with the new bod? It’s not really giving ‘Martian Manhunter,’ is it?”
The girl descended from her flight and landed before them. She removed her hood, revealing a humanoid face with Martian green skin.
“You know my Uncle J’onn?” she asked. “Hello, Megan! Of course you do. You’re Kid Flash, Wally. And you’re Artemis!”
“Your name is Wally ?” ‘Artemis’ demanded.
Wally ignored her. “Wait. Time out,” he cut in. “Who are you, and how do you know us? How do you know me ? My identity?”
“Oh.” The Martian’s face fell. “Your memories... they’ve been erased too. You two don’t remember anything from the past six months, do you?”
“Six months ?” Artemis blurted. “That’s an oddly specific number. How can we be sure you’re not the one who did this do us?”
“No! I would never!” she cried. “I’m Miss Martian, Megan – and we’re all part of a team. You, me, Wally and several others. I baked cookies for you.”
Both Wally and Artemis raised an eyebrow for varying reasons.
Okay ... so this wasn’t the weirdest thing that ever happened to him, but it’s not exactly the picture of normalcy either. The Rogues in Central leaned heavily into the technological aspect of their villainy. Psychological warfare was Gotham’s thing while mind control was Martian Manhunter’s. And a team? Why would he join a team with people like J’onn’s niece or a Green Arrow fangirl?
“Our memories are fragmented,” Miss Martian rasped. “I don’t know why, or how... but all I know is that we need to find our missing teammates. So please, will you trust me?”
Wally and Artemis exchanged looks.
The cool evening wind drifted through their limber forms.
“So,” Wally spoke as they trudged through the sand, in a piss poor attempt to break the awkward silence. Their memories had yet to return, and although it was obvious neither of them trusted each other, their only other option was to face the desert alone. Safety in numbers, and all that. Besides, it’s not like Wally would turn down a plea for help if he could help it. ( Heh .) “You said there are others. Other teammates.”
Miss Martian, who was leading the front, nodded tentatively. “Yes,” she agreed. “I remembered bits and pieces, here and there. We were close.”
Wally hummed as an affirmation, slowly doubting her claims.
Six months, discounting the grace period before the team was even formed, was a short amount of time to develop camaraderie with strangers who he’d never met in his entire life. The only real candidates he could imagine forming a team that he trusted to watch his back were Robin and Roy, but Roy turned the idea down as soon as it came up and Robin... well, let’s say he wasn’t joining any teams any time soon.
“Can you tell us about the other members?” he asked, keeping an eye on her physical reaction. There had to be something – a cue, a wince or even the way she breathed that could give away her true intentions. One off-kilter detail could send her house of cards tumbling, and he’d rather find out sooner or later which side she was on. If she was a she to begin with – Martians were notorious for their shapeshifting abilities.
“Their names still allude me,” she confessed. “The only reason I could remember yours was because I was in range to connect with your minds. I’m leading us to a familiar mental signature nearby, but I can’t tell who it is until we get closer.”
A pause. The only thing they could hear was the sound of sand crunching under their boots.
“It was a specific memory. I was baking cookies – you two were present, along with two other human males. I encountered one earlier, the one with a red S. Superman’s symbol.”
“Huh.” Wally clicked his tongue. “Are we on a team with Superman ? Wait. Are we in the Justice League? Dude, did I join the League and forgot all about it? Bummer!”
“I doubt so,” Artemis chimed in, worried. “The day I join the League is the day Hell freezes over.”
“It wasn’t Superman, I don’t think. He looked similar, yes, but far too young to be Superman himself. He was a teenager, like you and me.”
Wally frowned. “Soo... his kid, then? I didn’t know Supes had a kid. Am I on a team with Superkid? Oh no, are we a team of sidekicks ?”
Artemis scoffed. “ Excuse me?”
“Look, hear me out. We’ve got Martian Manhunter’s niece, Superkid or what’s-his-name, me, Kid Flash, and you’re... you know. What else am I supposed to think?”
Both girls looked at him like he’d grown a second head. He met their gazes head on, standing his ground. Not that he particularly enjoyed his stance; it was just the only thing that made any semblance of sense in this strange situation.
Finally Artemis sighed.
“You know what? Forget it.” She waved him off, turning to the alien. “You said there were two. Who was the other?”
Wally snapped his attention back to Miss Martian. He was still skeptical about the whole thing, but he had to admit he was also curious about this so-called ‘team.’
“An adolescent male. He looked shorter- younger than everyone else.” Miss Martian knitted her eyebrows. “He was wearing a mask, so I couldn’t see his face. The only thing that stood out to me was the color red, and an ‘ R .’”
Wally stopped in his tracks.
He was saying something, but not even he could hear himself in the desert breeze, much less the girls. They continued onward, holding a light, albeit superficial conversation between them.
It didn’t take long for them to notice his absence. The girls came to a halt, turning around.
Artemis had her arms crossed, but looked uneasy as he was leaving her alone with the alien that claimed to bake cookies and be her teammate. Miss Martian looked more pleading and desperate, like she was afraid that he’d changed his mind and run off.
“Are you tired, Wally?” Miss Martian asked. “I think there’s some of your protein bars left on the bioship; almond and chocolate chip. We can make the trip after we find our next teammate. They’re not too far from us.”
Artemis made a face. “Who—”
A scream cut her off.
Dick knew there was a reason why he had this location pinned. He rarely did things without intent, and the spontaneous decision to break this soldier’s nose with his bare fist was no exception.
In his defense, they had guns and strength in numbers. And woe is him, a little bird all alone and only armed with a superpowered ring and the rage of a hundred bulls. It hardly seemed fair – for them.
“Her Majesty wants him alive!” translated the ring, though it didn’t need to. In space, it was a useful tool when he was visiting sixteen different planets a week where it was physically impossible to familiarize himself with the local lingo or slang. Not here though, where Earthen languages were his bread and butter. “Do not kill!”
He ducked another rain of bullets by throwing himself into a roll, planting his palms into sand and pushing his lower body upwards. Dick felt his ankle connect with a man’s chin, cracking several of their teeth and sending them flying away. His lips curled as satisfaction flooded his chest, their cries of indignation from being beaten by a child only furthering to fuel his sadistic glee.
By all interpretations of the word, calling the rest of the fight a ‘fight’ by its original definition was an insult to the English language. No – the more accurate descriptor had to be the word ‘beatdown,’ in which Dick was beating the soldiers until they stayed down.
Faced with a wicked combination of acrobatics, Bat training and the ring, the poor fools never stood a chance. A dozen soldiers were reduced to a measly 4 within minutes, their fallen compadres laying twitching on the floor. Alive, but not unscathed.
Dick tripped one of the soldiers by their ankles and used their falling body as a springboard. Without even needing his ring’s interference, he flipped in the air and landed squarely on the strange device his systems had been tracking.
The remaining men cursed at him, pointing their silly weapons at this monster they called a child. They were scared and confused, understandably so. He was grinning ear to ear like a loon, acidic bile burning at the back of his throat.
A black blur raced through the covers of the night, taking their guns with it. Bewildered, Dick observed as a flying girl revealed herself from her camouflage, knocking two of the men’s skulls together in a feat of telekinesis. Then a third figure made a striking introduction, leaping in from seemingly nowhere to plant her boots into a man’s face as if she were an arrow.
Well, he can’t say he’s unbothered by this turn of events.
“Rob?”
He looked down, only to see Kid Flash staring at him with wide eyes, gaping like a brainless goldfish.
Robin was grinning at him – leaping off the device in a show of unnecessary flips to land firmly (yet somehow, softly) on his feet. He planted his hands on his hips and greeted him as they would every other day, like this kid hadn’t vanished into thin air and left the unbreakable Gotham Knight in pieces just weeks ago.
“Kid Flash!” he breathed, like he was genuinely relieved to see him. “Man, it’s so good to see a familiar face around here!” He jabbed a finger over his heart, with a force that had him balancing on the back of his heels. “What’s with the new aesthetic? Did you finally ditch the Flash?”
His mouth dried up. His eyes were so wide it was a miracle they hadn’t popped from their sockets.
“You got any information?” Robin was saying. “The only thing I’ve got is this stupid tracker.”
Wally knew many things. Some of those things were secrets they swore to never see the light of day. Out of those things, even less of them could possibly convince Robin—and hopefully him—that this wasn’t a hyper realistic hallucination concocted by some weird brain magic. But there was only one thing the real Wally would know.
The world around him froze as the scent of ozone filled the air. Robin’s mouth was still moving, but at the fraction of the speed it was supposed to be.
First thing’s first – Robin’s not dead, obviously, like Bats had declared just weeks ago. Instead, they were both in a desert out in the middle of nowhere, sharing a similar but not entirely identical wardrobe malfunction.
Robin’s suit looked more or less the same as his original uniform, but it was completely void of green, yellow or any other color except for red and black. It was as if someone had put him through a monochromatic filter set to ‘goth, evil vampire.’ His cape was longer and wider, his domino mask red rather than black, and the R over his heart was replaced by an empty white circle.
The more he looked, the more questions he got in lieu of answers. Robin was breathing, he was alive and (questionably) healthy, and very much not blown into smithereens. So unless resurrecting the dead was possible... Miss Martian did mention them losing a ton of memories, but that’s only if he could trust her story. It was all too convenient; the solutions wrapped up in a little bow and given to them when they least expected it.
The taste of ozone dissipated. Time resumed.
Wally pursed his lip and narrowed his eyes at the younger boy. “Memory loss, Rob?” he surmised.
Robin waved his hand “Only logical explanation.” His jaw clenched. “No deets, though. What are the chances I got slapped through the galaxy so hard I crash landed back into Earth?”
Wally stared at Robin. Robin stared right back.
“Dude.” His brow creased along with his mask. “What’s wrong?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” confessed the redhead. At Robin’s scrutinizing glare, he threw his hands up, combing fingers through his hair. “Are you real?” he blurted.
“... what.”
Balancing had never been Wally’s forte – that was always Robin’s, who grew up in a circus and incorporated acrobatics into 90% of his fighting techniques. Wally was always on the move, stability an afterthought as he chased after lightning and ghosts.
But never had he felt so off-center now, hands hovering over Robin’s shoulder, like he was a mirage who’d fade away at the slightest touch.
“It’s just,” he rasped, crushing relief filling him as his hands clasped Robin’s very solid shoulders. “Humor me. Please.”
Robin gave him a look that was a mixture of concern and a barely hidden grimace. The small show of emotion itself was odd – the Dick he knew was a master in maintaining his facades, but not enough to warrant alarm. They’d just lost months’ worth of memories. It was a given that they would be a bit shaken.
But instead of belittling him, or even brushing him off, Robin instead met his eyes and placed a gloved hand on Wally’s, giving his digits a squeeze. His hand was warm despite the fabric – or maybe because of it. He couldn’t tell which idea was more confusing.
“I’m real, KF,” he said. “I’m just as real as the urban legends about a man dressed as a bat, kicking criminals’ behinds six ways to Sunday.”
Wally choked on a wet laugh, pained and disbelieving all in one. Without warning, he threw his arms around the boy, burying his face into his shoulder. Robin tensed, taken aback by the sudden affection, but he slowly allowed the tension to seep away and relaxed in his touch.
“It’s fine, big guy,” Robin said softly, rubbing circles on his back. “Just tell me who I need to punch.”
“ Ahem .”
Wally peeled himself from Robin, startled. The pair spun towards the blonde of the pair, who looked more uncomfortable about the situation than interrupting their moment. Wally grimaced and scratched his nose, looking everywhere but her face. Robin crossed his arms and glared daggers at her, lips pursed into a thin line.
“This reunion is touching and all,” Artemis said, “but it’s not getting us any closer to our missing memories.”
“How about I put you closer to six feet under,” Robin shot back, with more venom than necessary.
“Hey, hey. ” Wally threw a hand between them as they started marching, snarling at each other like a pair of rabid dogs. “ How about we all take deep breaths and slow down. Violence is never the answer.”
Artemis threw her head back and hands up in disbelief. “He’s the one threatening me!”
Robin’s teeth clacked dangerously. His jaw was so tense he might as well challenge a hydraulic press in increasing pressure. It took all of Wally’s training and his years of knowing Dick to stop himself from flinching.
“You’re the one interrupting us!” he snapped, jabbing an accusatory finger towards her. “Who the hell even are you? Some lunatic dressed like Green Arrow?”
“Rob!” Wally grabbed Robin’s outstretched hand, alarmed at how hot his gloves were. It was like he was touching a boiling kettle, not a piece of fabric worn over his human friend’s limb. “Stop, please. You need to slow down and think .”
Kid Flash telling Robin to slow down? The world must be ending.
He’s not sure what’s on his face except for sand and sweat, but the chasm in his gut was widening with every twitch in Robin’s brows. Memory loss or not, he’d never, ever seen the younger lose his composure. Yes, Robin had a temper that could put most villains to shame, but he always tucked it away in layers of rationale and logic and his signature happy-go-lucky quips.
“Please,” said the Martian, desperate and timid. “Let’s not fight. We’re supposed to be a team!”
One of Robin’s brows hiked to his hairline, which was an impressive display of how expressive a domino mask can be. He turned to Wally, who could only offer a measly shrug in return.
“Yeah, so far I’m still not seeing any proof either,” Wally confessed. “But um, we haven’t killed each other! ... yet.”
Robin massaged the bridge of his nose. Artemis rolled her eyes. Miss Martian cringed.
“Our memories are still fractured,” Miss Martian said. “I’d wanted to wait until we find the rest of our team, but perhaps it’s more sensible if we could remember enough to work together.”
“Which means...?” Artemis probed.
“I will try to fix our broken memories,” the alien revealed. “Maybe, with the pieces each of us are holding, we can solve the bigger picture in this puzzle.”
Her eyes brightened with an eerie green glow. Faster than Wally could blink—which was fast —he was swept into a cavern. But instead of overhanging stalactites or rocks or stagnant puddles of water, the walls resembled a myriad of shattered mirrors, dim and playing the same scenes on repeat.
Some of them he recognized, not remembered. Some were unfamiliar and completely foreign to him. Some of them involved him ; and let it be known it was always weird to watch yourself exist from another person’s perspective, publicity events and interviews be damned.
“Oh my god,” Artemis cried out. “What did you do to us?”
Wally turned to her, and quickly saw why her reaction was warranted. Though her uniform remained mostly unchanged, she’d lost the Green Arrow motif and replaced it with darker, sleeker accents. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun, and her hands were covered in a mixture of dust and dried blood. What’s more alarming, however, was her complete lack of a mask, which left her face bare and ID exposed. Not that it mattered, because he had zero clue who she was either way.
He stepped and turned away out of respect, but was quickly faced with the disappearance of his suit. He was miraculously a few inches shorter, his limbs lankier and slimmer, and he was dropped into a worn-down shirt and ratty shorts.
“This is trippy,” he agreed, running a hand over his own bare face. It was oily and littered with bumps of acne. “But also, not cool.”
“Your appearances are not my doing,” Miss Martian defended herself. “I’ve merely brought you three into my mind. What you appear as now are what you see yourself as – your perception of self, not your physical form.”
To reiterate, Wally’s seen a lot of weird things, but only a miniscule amount of them involved the mind. Central City was plagued with criminals who have three PhDs, something to prove, and everything to lose. The Flash made friends with most of them anyways; so it wasn’t as if they were working too hard to incinerate him or Wally when they crossed paths.
“What if I wanted to look like Superman,” Wally suggested, then began manifesting the image of the hero in his head. He was only mildly disappointed when he remained Wally West, not Superman, the Man of Steel and All Things Super.
Miss Martian and Artemis looked like he was crazy. Well, more so the latter than the former. Tough crowd.
“These projections are your truest, basest form of your psyche,” she explained. “On Mars, we’d already take the forms we perceive ourselves as. Humans though, I don’t think you have shapeshifting, which is why your physical appearance oftentimes conflict with your mental one.”
“Oh,” Robin finally spoke up, after remaining silent for the entire duration of the conversation. “You don’t say.”
The two girls and Wally stared at him as if he were a ghost. Which honestly, was a partially accurate descriptor.
Despite the initial shock wearing off, they continued staring. Not with shock, but with the type of morbid fascination as you’re watching dozens of vultures clawing through a gasping man’s intestines. It’s a grotesque sight, but what made it so horrible was also the reason why you’re unable to look away.
Dick didn’t like drawing any attention to himself any more than he liked this ring dictating his life, but he liked his chasm of memories even less. From the way she was carrying herself, she didn’t appear like an experienced veteran but more of a young girl playing dress up of her favorite hero.
If she wanted to try anything, he had B’s mental training and the rage of a thousand suns to counteract her meddling. He knew from firsthand experience that psychics disliked strong emotions and lesser trained ones could even be permanently scarred. He could use that to his advantage.
But before that could happen, Wally’s lip wobbled.
“Rob?” he asked, confused and bamboozled and not at all feeling the aster. “Dick, what is...”
He didn’t need to be a psychic to know why he was reacting this way. His appearance didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture – he was back in the default Red Lantern uniform, dripping wet after being freshly dunk into the Blood Lake. His hair was longer and tipped with red, his skin ashen gray and teeth slightly sharp, looking more alien than human.
“I’m fine,” Dick replied a bit too quickly, getting increasingly uncomfortable by the growing concern on their faces. Even Artemis looked disturbed, which disturbed him . “It looks worse than it actually is.”
“You’re covered in blood ,” Wally hissed.
“I’m fine ,” Dick hissed back. “It’s not mine.”
Wally threw his hands up. “Oh, like that’s any better? What happened ? Last I checked, you’re human!”
He was. He still is. Just more undead than dead, which was a marginally thin line when he’s quite literally wearing his heart on his finger.
“It’s classified.” Dick scowled, ending the conversation. “Nothing you need to know.”
The speedster looked like he’d been slapped, which Dick can’t help but feel a tad guilty for. He always told Wally everything and vice versa, Batman be damned. He can’t imagine what the redhead must be feeling right now; to have your friend appear out of nowhere only to return as a monster like him.
Thankfully, the painful silence was quickly salvaged by Miss Martian asking for permission to return their memories, with a swear and pinky promise she’d only touch relevant memories from the last six months. (She was told that pinky promises were the most sacred of promises and should not be broken under any circumstances, and the ‘relevant’ clause was added by both Dick and Artemis. He would say he’s surprised, but he’s really not. She had rage and hyperfocus that could put weaker Reds to shame.)
The next few moments were a blur, like he was waking up from a deep slumber.
His name is Dick Grayson.
He is Robin, Batman’s protege.
He is a defect(ed) Red Lantern – in both senses of the word.
He is a probationary Young Justice Member, forced to join by both Batman and Green Lantern.
They were carrying out one of the League’s missions in Bialya to investigate a power surge.
The Team is- was not aware of his ring .
Dick’s eyes snapped open.
The night breeze blew past his hanging legs, the tip of his boots aloft in the air. The familiar red glow was carrying him against gravity, his cape swaying bonelessly in the winds.
Wally West, M’gann M’orzz and Artemis Crock were all blinking at each other, whose gaze finally settled on him. They craned their heads upwards and stared at him, standing not by Wally and Artemis, instead floating just a few feet away from M’gann.
He felt the fire in his chest slowly drain away. Slowly, he descended from the skies, his soles meeting solid ground once more. The reds and blacks of his uniform melted away, revealing the original colors beneath.
Unsurprisingly, it was Wally who found his voice.
“I,” he rasped somberly, giving Dick a pointed look. “I think we should talk.”