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Freckled Revelations
Even on a good day, dealing with Impulse is like trying to shove nails into your eyes. He's too chipper, too fast, too high on something, — and when he finds out who gave the speedster sugar, he's gonna strangle them, dammit — and won't ever slow down or pay attention to what's going on.
If his name wasn't a giveaway before, — it was Ro — no, Nightwing now — who named him, after all — it is now. He's too damn impulsive for the kinds of missions this little teen Justice League go on, too thoughtless and whimsical and in a world of fastfastfast, with the occasional ooh, shiny~ thrown in to make him want to smack the kid upside the head.
Even he hadn't been that reckless — though he doesn't really have much room to talk, all things considered; after all, his experiment was botched to begin with, and his speed is never, ever fast enough — and is never going to be. His only consolation is his spitfire-turned-tigress, but he can deal.
He's just not sure if Uncle B's grandson has it in him to slow down long enough to face the consequences of his mess-ups.
Given all he knows about the speedster, — his replacement, he can't help but think, bitterly, — and yes, he's justified in thinking that, knowing how he's too slow and too young and how he couldn't ever be good enough for his parents, good enough for his aunt and uncle, good enough for his teammates — couldn't even get that stupid experiment right —
Given what he knows, it's understandable if he gets a little confused when he sees the kid frowning when no one's looking, staring off into space with dark, dark eyes that hold so little of the determined fire that his kind are known for.
That lightning spark is so small in that yellow-gold gaze of his, so tired and dull and empty, that Wally's isn't quite sure if he's imagining something that's not there, or if he's seeing the time traveler for what he really is. And yet, whenever he tries to double-check, that glazed innocence and jubilant excitement is always, always, always back.
He's not going anywhere near that can of worms, not going anywhere near that drowning resignation and sorrow, and so he pushes it to the back of his mind.
He can't help but wonder, though. The few times Impulse's caught him looking a little too closely, scrutinizing him a bit too much, the brat's always quick to change the subject of conversation, quick to make a big spectacle out of himself and distract everyone, quick to twist his concern into annoyance by-by doing something stupid or acting like even more of an idiot!
The Team's too busy yelling to see through the façade, and the kid gets to pull the 'tourist' card again and again and again, with no one the wiser.
Dick's probably already seen through the mask, but he doesn't act on it. Wally's not too sure how he feels about that, and he's doesn't think he wants to know, either. On the one hand, he knows that none of them can really trust Bart, but on the other, well… he can't help but relate.
He's had downer days, too, okay?
And so, it is with this in mind that he helps in the little ways, playing along with the charades the brat insists on keeping up, pushing the speedster down and down and down every time he tries to be someone he's not, — until the day finally comes that he's no longer the time-traveling tourist or a speedster or Impulse, but Bart, just Bart, just Bart and his insecurities and his need to go fast because he's really only four or so and — his newfound love of Chicken Whizees because it's Wally who enjoys greasy junk food way too much… his love of noise because how else is there any proof that the world's still alive? —
Needless to say, Bart does open up, eventually.
It's kind of depressing, the stuff Bart's told him. The nuclear winter that the earth's been in for years, the enslavement of all the people by the Reach and its stupid scarab beetles — like Jaime's, the kid explains, even if it wasn't always like that. To Bart, the future's not worth seeing — or at least the one in store for them isn't.
From what Bart's not telling him, though, Wally's pretty sure the kid's seen plenty of futures, none of them acceptable, and — and the kid's probably lived through most of them, and that just makes him too sick to want to think about it much.
He knows enough to guess that his girl's not the one Bart's been expecting, that their Superboy is nowhere near the one he's used to; the kid can bullshit with the best — or worst, depending on whose perspective they're talking about — of them, but he can't hide the unease when Wally's flirting with Artemis, or the surprise each and every time their Superboy is quick to anger, or the dissonance whenever Superman jumps at the chance to avoid responsibility.
He can't hide the surprise when he sees Zatanna — too young, too naïve — skipping around, or when Batman — he's not supposed to be this nice, this caring, and where did the real Timmy go? — shows that he cares by allowing those little hugs and games and pranks from his wards.
Wally's Bat-approved wings might be showing, what with his being oh-so-observant and all, but if this kid's family, he's sort of allowed to be the overbearing brother if he wants to be.
It's not an invitation for hugs and kisses like the kid wants from him, but… it is an understanding that Uncle Barry may die, — because that hug was all kinds of suspicious, and far too desperate to be out of just being glad to see people he knows — and it is an understanding that he's expected to take up the mantle when his father figure all but disappears.
Bart assures him that now that he's saved his grandpa, there's no way the mode can get us now, so it's all crash, dude! — but. Even if the future's been changed, there's no guarantee who'll live and who'll die, no guarantee that anything'll work out the way Bart expects them to.
Bart's told him enough about the future that they are in danger of repeating, but that science-obsessed mind he used to put to use — before he became Kid Flash and overconfident and crazy and all kinds of messed up, before he broke up into Wally West and Kid Flash and Kid Fate, before he finally got over his identity issues enough to function with masks instead of personalities — and wasn't that all kinds of fun? — knows there's something inherently wrong when he sees it.
He can see it in the kid's eyes whenever they're up to fighting Central City's Rogues, see his fear and the flicker of expectation — of what, he's not sure, but the kid has this debilitating paranoia of walking the streets instead of zipping across the asphalt and pavement that he's not sure what to make of — like he's expecting to be beat up for just being there — and. Wally kind of knows the feeling, from before, before, Before.
Most would excuse it as the antsy nature of being a speedster, but…
Bart's innocent and dumb, except when he's not, and the Rogues always make him flinch. He always looks with sad, sad eyes at the Weather Wizard whenever they encounter him, and always seems so confused and worried whenever he visits the Flash Museum. His love for his 'Grandma Iris' and 'Grandpa Barry' overrides any unpleasant feelings Bart may have of staying, but more often than not he's either staying with the new Team or hanging out at the apartment Wally shares with Artemis.
Nobody can say that the confusion and love aren't justified; Bart is a time traveler. But, sometimes, Wally's not sure if it's all just because the kid needs a little bit of familial familiarity.
And, really, if he can get along with his supposed captor — the one that started the whole apocalypse thing, in fact — Wally has never been more unsure as to what the problem is. Because if not even the end of the world worries Bart as much as this specter hanging over his head, he thinks they should know — and not just him, but all of them.
He's just not sure if Bart trusts them enough to tell.