i love thinking about how wallyâs definition of a hero changed and evolved over time.
every kid thinks their parents are heroes, at least at first. for a couple, that hero-worship lasts well into adulthood. for others, it fizzles away in mutual laughs when they sit behind a wheel for the first time and shush their parentsâ backseat driving, or when they take successfully take control of the kitchen for a night. and for some, it slips away much earlier. because rudy talked loudly at dinner about the trust his boss was placing in him at work, smiling smugly at wally as though telling him to take notes. but wally noticed him yelling at his mother when coming home from work, his steps stumbling, his posture menacing over the smaller but no less angry form. and wally had to bite back protests when rudy sneered about aunt iris, spitting the fact that she was adopted in her face, nevermind that she seemed to care for the west family more than anyone else in it. (saying this aloud would only end with a backhand to the face or a belt to the back, though, so wally kept quiet.) and, anyway, when wally grew up and helped the green lanterns slam the doors of a prison cell shut on his fathers face, wearing a manhunter uniform and looking for all the world like the traitor to humanity he was, wally was grateful his hero worship had drizzled down the drain early.
aunt iris was brilliant, aunt iris was kind, aunt iris was beautiful, but aunt iris was human. she stuck bandaids over wallyâs scraped knees with gentle fingers and danced in the kitchen of a little apartment while she made wallyâs favourite version of mac and cheese. she was real and present and there, but she wasnât really a hero. because the world seemed to have a new definition of âheroâ. there was a man with a cape and a symbol of hope flying unattainably high over metropolis, there were arrows sticking out of steel walls in star city, there were hushed whispers of a leather-clad demon and a beam of brutal light fluttering around him in gotham. but central city? wallyâs home? had someone who could run faster than the speed of sound with lightning crackling in his wake, had someone who exuded sheer power, had someone who laughed in two-second television appearances, had someone who made jokes with kids he was saving to calm them down, had someone who cared about the city so goddamn much. he was everything wally had ever seen in a hero, and when aunt iris and her new boyfriend barry (wally kind of liked the guy so far) took him to the flash museum, wally stood in the center of it. he made a slow turn, taking in everything he could see and hear and feel. âsâ could mean hope and a bat could mean vengeance, but that red and yellow bolt of lightning meant power to wally, benevolent and uplifting power that made the lives of everyone it touched brighter.Â
it took a christmas when wally was in 5th grade for him to realize that the flash was a hero of the people. central city loved him, and the flash loved them right back. but when wally was zapped with lighting, feeling unimaginable pain coursing through every single nerve in his body, barely even registering the chemicals that had gotten into his mouth, it was his uncle barryâs face looking down at him. it was uncle barry that never let go of his hand in the hospital, it was uncle barry that held him up every step of the way when his new powers (his new powers!) left him a stumbling, newborn foal. it was uncle barry that explained every single part of what happened to him, then at wallyâs shy insistence, happily showed him around his lab. it was uncle barry that scoffed at his homework and wrote up some much more engaging problems for wally to do for fun. and it was uncle barry that presented him with his very own suit for christmas during that memorable 5th grade, and lifted him up easy as breathing when wally barreled into him for a hug. the flash was the hero of the people, but barry was wallyâs hero.
of course, with his new name and new identity and new powers, he was exposed to a network of more super-people. superman was kind, if a bit bumbling. wonder womanâs biceps were bigger than wallyâs entire head, but her laugh was as kind as aunt irisâ when wally told her that, and her grip was strong yet gentle when she scooped wally up and let him ride on her shoulders. uncle barry, no, the flash pouted theatrically when wally told him green lantern was funnier than him, but he cheered up when wally gave him a hug. batman wasâŚwell, first of all, real. wally honestly hadnât believed he existed, and stepping cautiously into the batcave for the first time, wally couldnât reconcile the near-invisible black mass moving silently around an outrageously high-tech cave with a human being. the reason for batmanâs invitation became clear soon, though, because if the darkness was real, that meant the light had to be, too. robin was everything wally had ever imagined and more. he one-upped wallyâs jokes with puns of his own and broke a manâs nose with a backflip and balanced on top of a telephone wire like he was walking on concrete and ordered curly fries exactly the way wally liked them. wally couldnât do anything but marvel.Â
over the years, he realized a couple things about his best friend. first, dick grayson, from the very beginning, had cast aside the notion of being âbatmanâs sidekick.â robin wasnât a continuation of batman. robin was different, in everything from costume to demeanor to fighting style. dick wasnât following batmanâs legacy, he was creating his own. second, no matter how many times dickâs world burned down, he would always rebuild it. nightwing was a fitting name, a sort of poetic justice to it that wally himself never would have considered had dick not pointed it out. when robin was taken away from him, and the two of them lay huddled together, seething and devastated on clark kentâs couch, he built himself up again as nightwing. when jason todd was murdered, the robin suit cast aside as if caught up in a curse, dick wept at his mistakes, then did everything possible to correct them, gently but insistently shaping tim drake into a damn near perfect vigilante, an artist turning soft clay into an unbreakable vase. when dickâs memory was ripped away from him, with time he clawed his way back; when his father was killed, he built up batman again and honoured him the only way he knew how; when the feeling of touch and sensation and love that he used to adore was brutalized into the opposite by a spider, he broke apart in the presence of the titans, placing his trust in their capable hands, then with their help, stood taller than he ever had before. the amount of strength that took was awe-inspiring to wally. finally, third, dick never lost his light. the warmth that draws everyone to him, the kindness that healed their wounds, the mischievousness that broke their chains of despair and buoyed them upward in laughter. he never once lost it. he didnât let many people see his breakdowns or his temper, but no matter the witness, he chose light over succumbing to the damning, over and over and over again.
a hero is someone you idolize, someone you aspire to be. wally had been trying to embody what dick stood for almost the entire time he knew him. from the way dick hugged him, the way the titans supported him unconditionally, the way the justice league respected him, the way central city loved the flash fiercely, and he loved them right back, wally liked to think heâd been successful.
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