So I'm somewhat disappointed that the YJ cartoon doesn't show more of the Team's home lives. In retaliation, I wrote this. In the comics, Wally's father isn't the uh..best of fathers. So I'm playing off of that. In this story, Wally is abused, but hides it from his team. I hope you enjoy it all.
He flinches as the glass shatters against the wall, the shards falling with a chrystalline twinkle as they hit the ground. He forces himself to not turn and stare at the broken pieces of glass, now littering the floor around his feet. Instead he keeps his eyes on his father's face. Green eyes locked unto brown eyes. Wally felt himself bite down on his trembling lips. Tears stung at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
His father's hand is hard across his face. The metallic taste of blood, strong in his mouth. But the young speedster ignored. Another backhanded swing is laid across Wally's face and he feels his knees give out, dropping him to the floor. He doesn't remember his father being this strong. He reaches a hand up, swiping away the blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth. This time, he stares down at his father's shoes. Brown work boots, scuffed on the toes with fraying shoe laces that tied loosely in a bow.
He could have run. He could have gotten up and would have been over in an instant, in a flash. Yet he didn't. He stayed still, frozen in place. He rationalized with himself, that some how, he must deserve this. His father loved him. So, he must deserve this.
Stars danced behind his eyes as his father's boot connected his his jawline. He felt his jaw break, the snap of bone echoing inside his head. The worse part was he could feel it immediately begin to heal itself. Bone tissue rapidly reforming, reconnecting. Healing in the wrong place. He would have to rebreak it later and get it set right. He was just thankful that broken bones usually took him two to three weeks to fully heal. For once, he was glad to have his powers not as fully developed as his Uncle's. He could only hope that a partially healed bone wouldn't hurt to rebreak as much as a fully healed one.
And then his father was kneeling in front of him, gathering him up in his large arms. The older man's tears soaking into his red hair. He barely hears over the ringing in his ears, his father's chant of "I'm sorry. Oh my god, Wally. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Wally reaches a hand up, soothing the brown hair of his father's down. He wants to tell him it is alright, that he deserves all this for being a bad son, but his broken jaw won't allow him to speak. So instead, he closes his eyes, tears still stinging at the edges and keeps carding his fingers through his father's hair very much aware of the whiskey smell hanging in the air.
Did this wet your whistle? Are you interested in seeing what is going to happen next? Me too! Now to force myself to write the next chapter.