runningstart | MASK OR MENACE IC INBOX

[ you're too obvious, Wally. ]

Okay, fine. I'll live without it. What about the others?

do u doubt me son
did i just hear some doubt come outta your mouth

I heard 70% come out of yours.

touch

dammit phone i meant touche

Go touche yourself.

SILENCE

ill be home in a couple minutes clean up any blood and hide the bodies

Wait, a couple like two or a couple like ten?

a couple like im home now

[Wally throws open the door and drops his bookbag with Robin's books inside on the ground next to the door.] Honey, I'm home!

[He heads over toward the kitchen.]

[ It was supposed to be easy. One chocolate cake from a box. Mission: Feed Wally.

He’d stressed himself out so much while Dick was gone — more than Dick had worried for him, and a part of him wondered whether that meant Wally was just a better friend than he was. That, on top of Wally tracking him down in Europe — he’d put Wally through a lot. He was too cold sometimes, too analytical. It smacked of all the things he’d started hating most about the role he’d fallen into.

So this was his attempt to be different. Better. More… open. Grateful. He’d never baked before, but how hard could it be? People did it all the time. He was a genius. He could handle a cake.

But it didn’t rise right, even when he left it in the oven for 20 extra minutes — just hardened and smoked, an uneven mess with lumps rising to the surface. There’s a first time for everything, he’d tried to tell himself as he scraped the remains down the sink.

The second one he’d started from scratch, from a recipe he’d found on the internet. But the ingredients hadn’t mixed right, or he’d done it in the wrong order, or added too much or too little of something. The batter hadn’t looked right, but he didn’t exactly have a wealth of culinary experience. Maybe it would fix itself in the oven. Maybe.

He remembers his dad cooking for his mom on the tiny stove in their train car. Was it her birthday? Their anniversary? He can’t remember, but he remembers the way Dad had told him that you can have all the fancy ingredients in the world, the most expensive kitchen, but what really made food delicious was love. Dick had wrinkled his nose in eight year old disbelief. ‘One day you’ll see,’ Dad had said.

The third cake sets off the fire alarm, and the fourth splits right down the middle, the center of it a molten, unbaked chocolate disaster.

Dick’s trying his best, but each failure chips away at his self-confidence, and the harder he tries the worse it gets. Because it’s not about the cake anymore; not really. Robin’s a super-genius ninja superhero, and Dick Grayson is a mathlete and a spoiled rich kid and a former circus freak, and he needs to believe that maybe somewhere in the middle there’s still a normal teenager. He can hack into spy satellites, he can swing from skyscrapers, he can do advanced calculus in his head, so why can’t he bake Wally one stupid cake?

The fifth and final attempt is in the oven when Wally gets home. Dick’s perched on the counter next to the stove, phone still in hand and legs dangling off the edge. Bags of ingredients are depleted around him, sugar and batter streaking the counter and flour on his designer jeans. The kitchen is a disaster area. He looks up at Wally apologetically as he enters the kitchen. ]

I don’t think I’m cut out for this.

...dude. [Wally surveys the damage with a critical eye and slowly sets the back of groceries on the counter. He meanders over to the sink and gingerly picks out a ruined cake pan, probably beyond salvaging. It should just be thrown away.]

I was gonna laugh when I came in, like I was all ready for it. [Not sure he should be laughing now. Maybe if Dick looked more embarrassed than he did depressed, sure, laughing at your best friend when he's humiliated is part of the gig. This is different though.]

You can still laugh. It's pretty bad.

[ He'd kind of thought cake pans were indestructible. Lessons were learned today. ]

Nah. [Wally picks the worst of the pans out of the sink and tosses them into the garbage.] So, is there a reason for this destruction, or...?

[ He shrugs stiffly, hopping down off the counter and shoving his hands in his pockets. This had all sounded better in his head, back when he'd thought he'd have an actual finished product to present, instead of chocolate flavored carnage.

He steels himself. ]

It was supposed to be for you. Which— yeah, I know. Like I said, you can laugh.

You...were baking a cake. For me. [Wally slowly removes the groceries from the bag, giving Dick a befuddled look over the counter.] Should I ask why you wanted to bake me a cake, or should I ask why you didn't just buy me one instead?

[ Something about the suggestion rubs him the wrong way — like the fact that he spent all day trying to get this right didn't tip Wally off that maybe, just maybe there was something about this that was bigger than a storebought cake. And maybe being annoyed is easier than being anything else right now. ]

Seriously? Buy you a cake? Right. Sure. Hey, Wally, I know you're my best friend, and we've saved each other's lives like two dozen times, and you spent all weekend freaking out and wondering if I was dead or kidnapped, so here, I spent twenty bucks on a cake. Because you're worth it.

[ He deflates a little. ]

... But... I guess then you'd actually have a cake.

[Wally's mouth clicks shut. His expression goes from befuddled to outright bewildered.]

You...tried to bake me an apology cake.

[okay dick his his best friend but sometimes HOW DOES HIS BRAIN EVEN WORK]

Dude it's not your fault you vanished. I'm okay. Is this because I freaked out on you when you got back?

[ Dick folds his arms defensively across his chest, leaning back against the counter. ]

Maybe. Kind of. I don't know. It's about a lot of things.

Well, dude, I'm all ears. Extrapolate away. [Wally heads over to the oven to peer inside at the...cake. Thing. He winces; that one is already puffed up and burning along the edges while still remaining completely molten in the center. And not like lava cake.]

Look, it's dumb. And it doesn't matter anyway, because it clearly didn't work, so— so whatever.

[ But he's peering at Wally, still hoping against hope that somehow he'll say this one looks okay. ]

[It...it looks awful.]

Dick, look, um. [Wally closes the oven and leans back against the counter.

...he sighs. Rubs the back of his neck. Half-sits on the counter and crosses his ankles.] I've...noticed some stuff. And it's not like it's uncool or a problem, but like- I don't even know if you know you're doing it, and it's kind of...I mean.

You know you've been, like...buying all the snacks I like, and whenever you come see me in my room you bring me food and now this cake thing. It kind of- I'm not saying you're doing it on purpose or at all, but it sorta feels like you're trying to...I dunno. Keep me happy.

Or keep me around. [Like a bribe. Or some kind of gift, or some attempt to keep Wally happy and placated enough to, he doesn't even know, not leave or something.] You know you don't have to do that stuff. Right?

[ Dick's brow furrows. He's quiet for a long moment. Wally's right, but the thing is, he hadn't even noticed he'd been doing any of that. He feels a flush up the back of his neck, and he has to look at the floor. ]

... Well. I mean. I do want that stuff. [ The words come out like he's forcing them, which he guesses he kind of is, and then they're suddenly all coming out at once. ]

But it wasn't on purpose or anything. I just... I'm really glad you're here, because no one else gets me like you do, not even Bruce, and I know I can be a real jerk sometimes and I don't always tell you stuff when I should and I'm really bad at talking, like this, right now, and— and I wanted to make you feel the way you make me feel, or whatever. So... I thought... cake.

... I sound completely insane, don't I?

[Kid's brain trips over that 'the way you make me feel' line before it falls into a tumble and continues onward. Robin's just very awkward with his words when it comes to expressing himself, Wally knows that.

Hell, he's awkward with feelings in general. As evidenced by the current conversation.]

You don't sound insane but you kind of make it sound like there's no reason why I'd wanna be your friend. I know you've been having a hard time stuck here with no leads but dude, you're kinda doin' that thing you do. With the clamming up and the stressing yourself out and stuff.

You don't have to do that. [Wally hops up to sit completely on the counter.] And yeah, you're right, I do get you. So even if you don't make me a cake or whatever, I still get you. I know you're probably feeling guilty that I freaked out, even though it's totally not your fault and you know it, and I know all the other crap you don't say so you don't have to say it.

I mean, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?

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ACTION

ACTION - or, a brief novel about cake batter and existential despair.

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