Genre: Angst, and Hurt.
Length: 943 words.
Pairing: Undecided.
Rating: Teen/Pg-13.
Summary: Wally remembers memories. He's scared of memories.
Author's Note: This was something that came up when I was writing. I'm not sure if it's a series or not. But for now, this will be completed until I suddenly get inspired to continue it. And to anyone who's reading, do tell me what pairings you'd like for Wally to be in. I don't mind almost any pairing, except for John/Wally, I like them more as brotherly friends. I do both slash and heterosexual pairings.
Warning(s): Mentions of Child Abuse, and Depression.
Start.
"Breathe Wally, just breathe." He tells himself, eyes wide and full of panic. He shouldn't be so scared. But he is. And he can't stop the fear from re-surfacing. He doesn't know if he can. All he knows is fear.
He's scared to let the fear overrule him. He's 21 years old, no longer 7 years old and weak. And yet Wally trembles, as if he was nude and the weather was below 0°C, but it isn't. And Wally hates that fact even more.
He's trying to keep his molecules from vibrating too fast. He's scared, so scared that his body is moving in its place trying to escape, escape the memories, but Wally knows, he knows better than Batman that no man can escape his memories. Even if he was the fastest man alive, he couldn't run away from the cold haunting eyes, which filled his mind.
He wished his nightmares were real. Instead he's haunted by the images of a dead man. Of a man who no longer breathes. It's rather frightening...
He wishes he wasn't Wally West for those moments. He wishes he didn't have to remember screams, tears, and pain. So much pain.
He wishes Aunt Iris was his real mother. He wishes Barry had been his father. That the people who've raised him, since he was 11, were his real parents. But they're not. He breathes again...
Slowly this time, Wally breathes. He ignores the silence, and how the ticking of the clock seems slow. He was suffocating in the room. The corners were drowning him in. They were dark. They reminded him of the closet in Blue Valley. The one he'd get locked up in. The one where he'd cry, and cry, but no one would let him out. Not even his moth-Mary.
She wasn't his mother. She was never his mother. She used to watch him hurt Wally. She'd even hit him at times. Mary was just another lackey of the monster that was his biological father. Mary, who had not loved Wally since his birth, because all she had wanted was a little girl, and instead she got a boy. A boy who wasn't as athletic as she wanted him to be, who dreamed too much, wanted to be a hero too much, and a boy who wasn't smart enough. His hair was too bright. His eyes too green. No one believed he was her son at times. She didn't like that much.
People still thought Aunt Iris was his mother. He only wished he could believe that as well.
Cold tears. Warm tears. And never-ending tears. He'd remember that every time he got lectured. Every time he disappointed them. He was always wrong. They were always right.
His hands are still shaking when he uses them to push himself off the wall he had been crouched by. His knees still felt weak with every step he'd take. The vibrations had lessened in the past 5 minutes. '5 minutes' he thinks bitterly 'more like forever...'
He stops at an oval mirror, engraved with silver paint that clashed beautifully against the bright cyan borders. He sees thin arms, faded scars, burn marks, whip marks, healing gashes from yesterday's mission, lips tinged with blood, hollow cheeks, bags under his eyes, bloodshot red eyes, and sweat clinging to him like dirt. He's supposed to hear silence, but instead his ears echo with "Failure!" "You'll always be a failure." "You're good for nothing!"
"Were you ever worth it?" and he wants to whisper "yes" so badly, but he can't. His father's dead, and he doesn't want to seem crazy by talking to himself, telling himself he was worth it, when he should've known the words, instead spending his time trying to believe in them...
Wally West, m.k.a. (mostly known as) Flash, Fastest Superhero alive, thinks he's worthless because he was abused a child. He feels pathetic.
He wonders, if he always was this pathetic when Barry was still alive, and he was just Kid Flash. But Barry's dead too. And Kid Flash is no more.
His communicator beeps, and Wally snaps out his thoughts, instantly zipping to the small object. He wears his suit before flipping it open.
"Flash, are you busy?" calls out a calm-yet-still-serious Batman.
"Nah. I'm not busy Bats" he replies, filling his tone with charm, and fake cheer. He's not busy, but he'd rather be alone. And Wally almost smiles at the irony, because he can almost understand how Batman feels like when he doesn't want to be bothered. But he doesn't, and he doesn't care that Batman would be angry at the nickname, because it was expected from Flash to do just that, and if Wally didn't act his part, Batman would figure something out, and probably interrogate him. And Wally was so not in the mood for interrogation.
It brought up bad memories. But the thought of such memories, only brought out the fear within him.
"Don't call me that. And since you're not busy, go down the main street in Metropolis, Superman needs some help fighting Giganta and Shade." before disconnecting the connection instantly.
Wally sighed. Trust Batman to tell you what you need to do, and hang up on you without saying "bye". He fixed his room, making sure there wasn't a thing out of place, and that most of his Flash rings were hidden from plain sight, under some button-down shirts. Before heading for the door.
He zipped out of the door, ignoring the taunting laughter that repeated in his head, when he glanced back at the dark room.
He had to help Superman, as Flash, not Wally. And Flash was a hero. Nothing's supposed to scare heroes...
End.