"You've reached Wally West! Leave your questions, comments, and cash donations after the beep. I'll catch you later, gorgeous."

Dick nearly stabs himself before the message is over, the pure longing too much to take. He hasn't heard that voice, the voice that kept him alive over the phone so many times, in six months, and even an old recording through poor-quality tiny speakers makes him so, so homesick.

He doesn't stab himself. Wally needs to know why first, and Dick needs to explain. He needs to get it all off his chest if he wants to go peacefully, and even after everything, he thinks he deserves that much.

Maybemaybe he's a little scared to do this alone too.

"Hey, Walls."

He fiddles with the knife, watching how it reflects the dull glow of the single hanging light bulb that's on in his apartment. He waits a few seconds, just in case, then closes his eyes and speaks again when the silence starts to break him.

"Just thought I should call. I wanted...to hear your voice. And I'm closing my eyes, and it's like you're right here and I'm talking to you. I just need to talk, okay? You...always listen."

Listened, and Dick lets out a little sob. He can't, even after six months, say was or did or lived or died-

Died, and Dick has to choke back a hurricane.

"Everyone's moving on, dude. I think. I haven't...seen anyone since...your funeral." Ow ow ow it hurts. "You understand that I needed to leave everything, right? It hurt too much. I wanted to cry every time you weren't there. And there were just too many times."

Would have thrown myself in front of a gun and they wouldn't have liked that, Bruce wouldn't have liked that, you wouldn't have liked that.

"I've wanted to visit them. Call someone, at least. I think...well. I'm not doing good, Walls." He laughs the ugliest, least laugh-like sound he's ever made. It's hilarious, because how could he be doing good? Wally would know that. But it's also not funny because he needs Wally to know how hard he tried. How long he put this off, how much energy it took to live these past six months. How he did it for him, in some stupid attempt to honor him. How Wally deserves statues and holidays and buildings and foundations carrying his name, but all Dick can give him is his life and he tried so hard to do it.

He doesn't know how to make an answering machine understand all that.

"Probably the worst I've ever been, actually. I wanted to fight for you, because you wasted half your life helping me fight, but…" But he's so tired. He's so tired. "God. It's so much. Y'know? I was already...already so sick and then B kicked me out...and Jason...happened. And he died. Fuck, Jason's dead. He's dead. My parents are dead. And you're dead."

The only one who isn't dead is him. Correlation to causation, and all that. He's venom. Poison. Kills everything he touches. And everyone knows it.

"The team...blames me. They say they don't, but they look at me and I can see it."

He could see it in Superboy's tense shoulders, in Zatanna's averted gaze and in Bart's hung head. Artemis...radiated rage like a furnace, like her sorrow was the coal. It burned just as badly. A deserved burn. How he imagines it might have felt if, when he was twelve, he went the cigarette route instead of the razor blade route.

"I mean, it's my fault. There's no use lying. 'S why I really had to leave, I guess. Otherwise, maybe I would be okay. But I killed you. Wally, I killed you." Out of habit, from a voice that says Wally hates when you cry, he drops his face to his hand and chokes against his palm, taking in gasps of air through his nose in between cries he's really trying to stifle.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't gonna cry. I just...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I fucked everything up. It should have been me."

It will be me. Soon. Really soon, I promise. I'm coming to see you.

Composure regained, he keeps talking. He's hardly talked to anyone the past few months, and now he's finding it hard to stop.

"Bruce and I were better, before he left. It...it was almost like it used to be. But he's so disappointed in me now. He's barely talked to me since he got back. Tim's avoiding me. Babs is mad at me for quitting. None of the team...no one's called or visited. I just...well." His voice grows just a bit hysterical as his breath runs out. "I was fucking stupid, I thought someone would stay. Anyone. But that's not how my life works, we both know that." He breathes. Breathes again. "I'm really sick of people leaving, Walls. It hurts so much. Too much."

It shouldn't bother him, really; he's never known stable or steady. Always a circus, always people coming and going, always moving from place to place. And yet, that's why it bothers him at the same time, because without someone to ground him he's going to fall.

Falling. He thought about falling. Symbolism, and whatnot. He's never had as much appreciation for symbolism as Jason did, and even he could see it there. But he knows what bodies look like when they hit the ground, what happens to the bones and the blood. It wouldn't be fair to Bruce and Alfred and Tim.

And Wally. None of this is fair to Wally. But it doesn't feel right to do it without telling him first, after years of hey yeah i think i'm gonna do it tonight and then not doing it and then promising he would tell him the next time, too. It was their dumb, sad little routine. Dick can't imagine how tired Wally must have gotten of it. He certainly got tired of it.

Just one more time.

"I keep putting it off but...I can't...do this anymore. I couldn't do this five years ago. I won't be able to do it six months from now. I have a week taken off work and a stack of notes for everyone and a knife. I'm ready, really. I just didn't wanna be alone when I did it."

He thought of everything, he's pretty sure. He put a lot of his stuff into boxes, canceled his mail. Cleaned out his kitchen. Hid his Nightwing things and left coded instructions to Bruce to find them. Wrote his notes, some just brief coded directions to the real notes, which were with his suit and weapons. Wrote a half-assed will, leaving everything to Tim and asking to be buried with his parents and Jason. Took time off work. Laid a towel down so the blood wouldn't stain the carpet.

It's amazing how much energy he suddenly had when he knew he only had to get through a few more days.

And how terrified he feels now that the moment's here.

He doesn't realize he's crying for a minute or two, just kind of marveling at the fact that this is really it and he doesn't know what happens next.

All he knows is that he wants to go home.

"I'm scared, y'know? I've only gotten this far once or twice. I always backed out. I'm a coward. I'm scared to die. I'm scared to live. But I gotta choose one, and if there's even half a chance that you and Jay and Mom and Dad are waiting for me somewhere I think it's worth it. I can stop bothering everyone here, at least. And if none of that, then...I-I deserve it. For what I did to Kaldur. And the team. And Artemis's family. And Barry, and Bart. Artemis. You."

He chokes back a whimper as he picks up the knife, which feels right in his hand but also looks a lot sharper than it did a minute ago.

I'm coming home, I'm coming, wait for me...

"It'll...be just like falling asleep. Right?"

Does it hurt?

Did it hurt when you…?

"I dunno whether to go for my wrists or my heart." His voice shakes almost as bad as his hand. This is it, this is it, this is it, just do it, go, go, GO-

"I don't know what would hurt the least. But...I mean, the pain will all be over after. So that doesn't matter. I don't want to be...too scary-looking either. Even if no one...c-cares enough for a funeral they'll probably have Bruce come identify my body-" he chokes - "This is stupid. I'm stalling. I just need...need..."

I'm coming home, Mama, Daddy, Jay...

"I need you, Wally."

He clicks the button.

Too many things happen at once.

There's a crack and then a bang, and then there's a light so bright he thinks he did it unconsciously and he's in heaven, and then there's yellow and movement and the knife is three- two- one inch from his heart and then it's not, there's something grabbing it and him and there's noise and he's sobbing because everything is too much-

And Wally.

Wally's here to take him to wherever he goes now.

Except Wally looks like a mess, all windswept and messy hair and bug-eyes, and he's gasping for air like he's just stopped running.

"Dick- Dick Dick Dick oh my god oh my god oh my god what the fuck are you doing-"

Dick just blinks at him.

"Oh god you think I'm- we're- we're not- fuck, just- later, okay? Just- Dick," Wally nearly sobs and then he's grabbing Dick's head by his hair and it hurts and Wally's yanking him to his chest and just holding him like too tight isn't a concept he's familiar with, and then Dick nearly throws up because he's crying so hard his whole body is convulsing. He vaguely registers Wally kissing the top of his head over and over and murmuring "thank you, thank you, oh god, I'm so sorry," like he's the one who saved Wally's life or really, maybe they're both just dead.

He thinks he doesn't really care if he's dead or not because either way he's home.

"...miss me, or something?"

"Shut up."

"Still here...back to sleep."

"Love you-"

"...said it enough…"

"I love you…"

Dick wakes up stiff. Stiff and sore. The next thing he recognizes is an arm around him, holding him tight in a way that's both familiar and different.

He's sort of afraid to open his eyes, because the dream will be over, and his bed will be cold, and he'll have to remember that this happywarmsafe feeling that he can't quite put his finger on isn't here anymore. But a noise startles him, and then he's looking at his apartment from the floor, from Wally's arms that are still there even though he's most definitely awake and alive.

That's sort of too much to deal with right now. He turns to the source of the noise. Artemis. Making pancakes in his kitchen. He stares at her, dumbfounded, until she beckons him over and he very reluctantly untangles himself from Wally to go to her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers when he's within arm's reach, pulling him into a hug. "Missed you."

Dick doesn't know what to say.

Artemis doesn't seem to mind. She pulls away, and grabs a small stack of papers from the counter behind her, thrusting them into his hands. He thumbs through them. Therapists in Bludhaven. Family therapists in Gotham. Mental health hospitalization programs. List of common antidepressants. Alternative treatments for depression and anxiety. Alternative coping skills to self-harm.

He gets to the end of the stack and looks at her, a little numb. She reaches up to rest her hand against his cheek.

"We're gonna get you better, Boy Wonder."

Dick looks back at Wally, still awkwardly reaching out for both of them, and nods.

"Okay."

A/N: Aaaand it's done! thank god. It's been nine months. Most writers can write 11k words in like. One month. So yea lol I'm sorry I'm incompetent but hey! it's done.

The lil coda there at the end may seem to not quite fit, but it was important to me to show that this story ends with the beginning of recovery. I hope you felt sad and happy and anxious and all those good angst feelings, and I really hope you enjoyed.

I love this series a whole lot, and I don't really have any big stories planned for it right now but I'd love to write some little pieces for it and I think I might take some requests! My tumblr is haunt-the-stars and I'd love it if you'd come talk to me about this story or request others (that can include other POVs of parts of Coping series stories, fill-in-the-blanks scenes, or other stuff). I might not get to them right away, but I will eventually.

So, yeah. Thanks so much for reading. This story is my baby.