Author's Note: As I understand it, the final episode of Young Justice that aired earlier today was none to kind to fans of a certain speedster. As such, I thought a little brofic might be a nice way to pick some spirits back up. This story will be three chapters total, and is part of the Spark in the Dark universe. There's some Bruce/Dick fluff as well, but it's mostly Dick/Wally. Chapter two will be up inside of 24 hours. Happy reading!

Dick dropped his backpack on the floorboards of the car as he climbed in. "Hey, Alfred!" he exclaimed.

"Hello, young sir," the butler gave him a warm look in the rearview mirror. At least he's in a good mood this afternoon, he thought tersely. The news I have to give him would have been far more difficult to deliver were he already in the midst of a bad day. "How was school?" It will wait another moment or two, he decided.

"Eh, it was okay," the twelve-year-old answered non-committally. "The usual." Girls refused to talk to me, the captain of the football team called me a midget, et cetera, et cetera, he didn't see fit to add. It doesn't matter, though, not today. He bounced in his seat as they pulled into traffic. "…So, are we picking up Bruce? He said he was getting off early for the show." The billionaire had informed him a few days before that there was going to be a one-night-only performance by a group of renowned Chinese acrobats in Gotham, and the boy had begged to go. His pleas had been unnecessary, since three tickets had already been purchased, but Bruce had let him go on for a minute before revealing that fact.

"Ah…yes. There has been a slight change of events, I'm afraid."

He froze, his lips balanced on the edge of a deep pout. "…We're not going, are we?" The show had been all he'd been looking forward to ever since he heard about it. Even the prospect of his usual weekend patrols had dimmed a bit in importance compared to seeing fellow aerialists at play. …What happened? I didn't get in trouble, so why aren't we going? Did they cancel or something? Maybe something big's going down, and Batman and Robin have a mission…

"Now don't jump to conclusions too swiftly, Master Dick," Alfred instructed him. "Master Wayne will not be able to attend tonight's performance due to a last-minute business concern. Your ticket – and mine, for that matter – are not in jeopardy, however."

"Oh. Okay." He scrunched up his face for a moment, then gave a deep sigh. …It sucks that Bruce can't make it, but…at least Alfred and I still can. I guess that's better than not going at all. But I really wanted to see it with Bruce. We've both been so busy lately. We haven't had a bad movie night since Christmas break… "So what, did he turn the third ticket back in or something? Last I heard there was a huge waitlist for seats," he asked, hoping to distract himself.

"I'm not sure. He didn't mention anything about it."

"…Huh. Is he planning something?" The odds were against Alfred lying to him if he asked a direct question, he knew, and they were also very much in favor of the butler being in on anything Bruce might be concocting.

"Not to my knowledge, no. I've honestly no idea what he intends to do with it." That is rather strange, he pondered. I can't imagine him withholding the opportunity for someone else to go, but why keep the third ticket if he'll be otherwise occupied? "Perhaps he believes he'll be able to come partway through the show. Mind you, he didn't intimate that," he made clear. "It's pure speculation on my part."

"Hmm…yeah, I can see that. Weird that he wouldn't say anything if he thought he might make it, though." He wasn't entirely sure he believed that was Bruce's intention in keeping the third ticket, but he couldn't imagine what else the man might have up his sleeve, so he let it go. I'll find out soon enough anyway, he supposed.

Leaving the topic to rest, they chatted amiably for the rest of the drive. As they passed into the foyer, they both heard the kitchen phone ringing. Dick flicked his shoes off in an instant and bolted for it, sliding across the last dozen feet of polished marble in his socks and snagging the receiver just as the final ring died out. "Hello?" he asked, giggling slightly as Alfred followed him in a much more sedate manner while muttering something about broken necks.

"Hey, chum. Did Alfred talk to you about tonight?"

"Yeah. He did. Business junk, huh?" It's stupid. You're the CEO, can't you just send someone else? Or is this another Bruges-type thing?

"Yeah," came sighed back. "Business junk."

"Are you going to make it partway through or something? He said you kept the third ticket." Might as well ask him, so long as I'm on the phone with him anyway.

"I actually need to speak with Alfred about that. Is he there?"

"Yup. Here you go." He handed the phone to the butler, who motioned him to his usual seat at the breakfast bar and prepared to serve him his after-school snack. Dick made a show of pulling a textbook from his bag, but his ears were locked onto the conversation taking place without him.

"Yes, Master Wayne? Yes, a bit. No, we wondered that ourselves, actually…oh? Well, that would be a lovely gesture, sir. Not at all. No, I'm sure I can manage. Of course, sir. Not a word. Yes. Very well, Master Wayne. We shall see you later tonight. Goodbye."

"…Well? What did he say?" the boy asked, eyes wide and eager.

"He said that since it is Friday and much of your evening will be taken up with the show, he would like you to go to the cave and take a look at the file he left on the counter for you."

"Oh. Okay," he puzzled. "He didn't say anything about tonight, though?"

"Nothing that concerns you at this point, young sir, no." Your involvement won't begin for, oh, another three minutes or so. I know you're disappointed that Master Wayne won't be able to join you, but I imagine that what he has planned instead will nearly make up for it. Holding back a smile, the Englishman placed two cookies in a napkin and handed them over. "Here you are. I'm sorry you can't eat up here, but Master Wayne was adamant that you go straight downstairs."

"Uh…sure," he shrugged. Still trying to crack this new and tantalizing case, he made his way to the cave and flopped into a chair, ignoring the folder for the moment. This is really strange. I mean, sending me down to look at a file is one thing, but he could at least let me eat first. I know it can't be anything too serious, or he would have cancelled my going to the show tonight…no, he's definitely planning something, and I think he just brought Alfred in on it. 'Nothing that concerns you at this point…' what exactly does that mean?

His train of thought was interrupted by the Zeta tube. "B03, Kid Flash." Dick whirled around in his chair, flying to his feet.

"…Wally?" he exclaimed as the redhead appeared.

"Hey, bro, what's up?" the speedster replied, zipping to his side and immediately offering his fist. The younger boy reached up to bump it with his own, still boggling.

"What…what's up? You're not in costume," he frowned. He knew that both Flash and KF occasionally traveled by Zeta without any sort of disguise, but it still bugged him when he saw it. Bruce would kill me if I did that, he shook his head. "Is something going on? Should I suit up, or…?"

"Dude, chillax," Wally laughed. "…Didn't Bruce tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He called Uncle Barry and said there was some big show you're super excited to go to tonight, and that he can't go all of a sudden. So…he thought you might like it if I went with you, instead," he beamed, "and then spent the night here and went home after tomorrow's JLA meeting."

"…Bruce suggested all of that?"

"Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago. It was really last minute, but…here I am!" He dropped into the chair his best friend had abandoned a moment before. "So, what is this show, anyway?"

"…Give me one second, okay?" he held up a finger. Well, that explains what he's doing with the third ticket, he thought deliriously.

"Sure," he allowed before beginning to spin himself around, going faster and faster until he was a dangerous-looking blur.

Not wanting to be within range if the pneumatics on the chair gave out and exploded, Dick walked a short distance away and pulled out his cell phone. Technically he was only supposed to use it for emergencies – not like I have civilian friends other than Wally to run up the bill with, anyway, he'd laughed when Bruce told him that – but this seemed like a reasonable exception. The billionaire's number rang three times, and he was beginning to think he was going to have to leave a message when the call was picked up.

"…Dick?"

"Best. Guardian. Ever," was all he said back.

"You're welcome."

"I thought you were up to something, I just didn't figure that it would be quite this awesome."

"…I'm sorry I can't make it to the show, kiddo. I was looking forward to it."

"I know. But…I understand. You've got work." Always work. It's a good thing I don't do sports or drama or something, you'd probably never make it to see me.

"I promise we'll do something special together soon, all right?"

"Sure," he smiled knowingly. You say that a lot, Bruce. It just doesn't actually happen much. But…you're an important person. Other people need you, too. I guess that's the price we pay.

"I'll be home very late tonight. Stay in after the show and have fun. Understand?"

No patrol. Dang it. He thought about trying to argue that Robin and KF could handle Gotham together for a night, but the idea of having that debate while speaking circuitously enough for a civilian line made his brain hurt. Besides, he'll just say no, so why tick him off? "I understand. We'll just watch horribly violent movies and play graphic video games while stuffing our faces with the junk food that Alfred pretends to have no idea exists within the walls of this house. Is that okay?"

"Only if you save me a Twinkie."

"…Wait, where are those hidden?"
"If you don't know, I'm not telling."

"Just for that, I won't save you one when we find them."

"Good luck with that." He paused. "There had better be one left, Dick. You know what it takes to smuggle those things in."

"I'll leave it on your pillow," he laughed. "…See you at breakfast, if we're not still up when you get home."

"You'd better not be. I expect you to go to bed at the regular weekend time."

"…But Wally's bedtime is later than mine."

"He can stay up. You can't."

"Not cool, Bruce."

"Would you prefer your normal weekday bedtime, then?"

"No!" he squeaked. "That's like two hours earlier than weekends! No way!" He knew Bruce wouldn't really ground him, but it amused the billionaire to think of himself as a strict disciplinarian from time to time, and Dick generally played along. "See you at breakfast!" He hung up hurriedly, the chuckling coming from the other end of the line making him smirk. Ha. Made you laugh over the phone. I win.

Wally saw him coming back and let his spin wind down. "So," the speedster asked, "what's the show about? It's not an opera, is it?" he asked distastefully. "Aunt Iris dragged us to an opera a few months ago. I was so bored. I'm pretty sure Uncle Barry actually fell asleep a couple of times. She kept nudging him and looking annoyed."

"Some operas are okay," the dark-haired child opined. "Bruce takes me with him when he has an invitation to an opening night show. But this isn't opera," he clarified as Wally began to look nervous. "It's a special aerialist and acrobatics team from China. They just performed for the President, and they're doing a few shows around the country before they go home. The tickets are super exclusive."

The older boy's mouth dropped open. "No freaking way! They did their act for the President, and now we're going to see it? That's so sweet!"

"I know, right?" Dick grinned. "I've been waiting all week for tonight."

"…Dude, being your friend has some amazing perks, do you realize that?"

"Tell that to everyone I go to school with," he said sarcastically.

"You're still having trouble with that?" When they'd met three years before, both boys had been outcasts in their respective schools. Wally's troubles had melted away over the past twelve months, thanks largely to an unusually kind dose of puberty, but Dick's persisted. I don't get why he isn't the complete king of that fancy place he goes to. I mean, I know he's a few years ahead in school, but that puts him in classes with kids just a little older than I am. I think he's pretty effing cool, so why don't they? He shook his head. "People are stupid, bro. Just…just don't let them get to you. You're awesome – not just because of all the wicked stuff you take your friends to do, by the way - and they're idiots for not seeing that. So…forget them."

Dick stood still for a second, a bit stunned. "I…thanks, Wally. That…that means a lot to me."

"I speak the truth," the redhead spread his hands and pulled a funny face. Don't get all teary, okay? Laugh. I wasn't trying to make you cry, I just didn't want you to feel sad about not having other friends. "So," he jumped up, towering over the other boy by at least four inches. "…Has Alfred-"

"Wally, did you go and get taller? Again?" Dick cut him off to accuse. He'd thought it was just his sneakers earlier, but looking down he realized that the redhead was wearing shoes with approximately the same sole thickness as his costume boots. Crap, really?

"Uhh…" He scratched the back of his neck, looking guilty. "…Yeah. Sorry. Aunt Iris hates it, too."

"I'm never going to catch up, seriously," he sighed dejectedly.

"You totally will. Just wait. You'll probably end up like a foot taller than I am," he encouraged.

"…Wals, my dad was all of five-nine. Your aunt is taller than that. There's no way I'm passing you up. "

"…Well," he struggled, "…I don't care if you never grow another inch, okay?"

"Dude, ouch," Dick frowned.

"No, I meant…I meant it doesn't matter how tall you get, all right?"

"It does if you qualify as a midget," he scowled.

"You aren't a midget. And even if you were…you'd still be my best friend."

He looked away. "…Yeah, I know." And I am so lucky for that, Wally. So lucky.

"So…are we cool?"

"We're cool." He shot him a smile. "…Thanks. I needed that. Some jerk called me short today, and I guess it got to me more than I realized."

"He's stupid. You aren't short, you're fun-size."

"…What?" he arched an eyebrow.

"I don't know, I saw that on a shirt. I thought it fit."

"Heh. I get it. Shirt…fit. Funny."

"And that's why we're bros, bro," the redhead smirked. "Anyway…does Alfred have cookies upstairs, do you think?"

"Is water wet? Of course he does."

"Race you to the kitchen."

"Oh, yeah, that's fair." The speedster was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs. "…Are you insane? Barry already said he's cutting your feet off if you melt through another pair of sneakers. I was there, I heard him. He sounded serious."

"Then I guess you'd better catch me before that happens," he smirked as Dick trudged over.

"Tag. You're it," he mock-punched the older boy's arm when he reached him. "Ready for normal people mode?"

"Boring old normal people mode activated," Wally sighed.

"Normal people get cookies."

"...Yeah, okay. You win. I can sacrifice speed for cookies, at least for a couple of minutes."

"Good." He smiled. "C'mon, we have a valiant quest for baked goods to embark upon."

"Onwards!"