Wolves in Sheep's Clothing
He watched as the laughed at some corny joke one of their neighbors told. They acted like they were a normal, happy family. Their smiles were nothing but plated gold, deceit seemed to come naturally to them. They were wolves in sheep's clothing. They had no morals. Because really would someone who had morals really beat the snot out of their eleven-year-old son as soon as people's backs were turned.
He had no idea how they even slept at night. He watched them, all happy and grinning their crimson smiles, nobody else noticed the red in their teeth. But he did, he always did. They had everyone fooled into believing they were some happy little family that loved each other. That was the biggest load of BS he had ever heard. They were nowhere near happy, he should know.
As soon as they entered the house, the façade dropped. His father went off to get a beer from the fridge, while his mother went off to call her 'mother', when really she was going to call her boyfriend. Honestly why she still tried to hid it was a real mystery. The both knew what was really happening. As for him, he tried to sneak away without being noticed. He failed.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" His father growled at him. He froze mid-stride, before slowly turning around to face the man.
"Um, to my room, sir." He answered quietly. He knew what was about to happen, it happened every day. His father stalked towards him, looking at him as if he were some kind of prey rather than his child. Wally fought not to take a step back, he knew that would only make it worse.
"Did I say you could go? No I didn't and now you've earned yourself a punishment." As he said this he pulled off his belt and raised it into the air. The resounding crack that filled the room was loud. Then the hits just kept coming. At some point his father dropped the belt and preceded to punch and kick Wally instead.
He curled up into a ball in an effort to defend his vital organs. After about fifteen minutes of constant beating, Wally's father wondered off to get more beer. He stayed laying on the floor for a few more minutes before finally pushing himself up and making his way to his room to clean up his wounds. As he passed the kitchen, he glanced in at his mother. When she saw him looking at her she glared and made shooing hand motion.
Once he made it to his room, he shut and locked the door before pulling off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror on the way over to his bed and he couldn't help but stop and stare at the patch work of bruises and cuts. Almost all of his upper body was covered in some injure. Some of the bruises were old and yellow while others were pretty blue and purple. He even had a few scars, the most notable is the one he got when mother through a kitchen knife at him when he was six. Luckily the knife mostly missed and only grazed him, but it did leave a pretty nasty scar across the side of his neck.
With a sigh he pulled his gaze away from the mirror and continued his way over to his bed where he pulled a first aid kit out from under it. Then he set about cleaning up his new wounds. Once he finished that he replaced the first aid kit, and laid back in his bed. From his spot on the bed he stared up at the Flash poster on his ceiling. It was a gift from his uncle. He loved it, mostly because it was from his uncle, but also because he admired The Flash. His aunt and uncle were probably the only good things in his life. They loved him like he was their own child, and sometimes, more like all the time, he wished he was.
His life would have been so much better had he been born to them instead of his own parents. Most people thought that Flash was his hero, because of how much of his stuff was Flash themed, but really his uncle was his hero. He often thought about telling Barry about what really happened when nobody was around, but then he shakes the thought off. There was no point in dragging Barry into the mess that was his family life.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl coming from his stomach. Wally brought his hands down to hold it. He could hardly remember when the last time he had an actual good meal was. Usually he just gets whatever is left form his parents dinner, which usually wasn't much.
His stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart, but he didn't want to risk going out there. So he just ignored it, he was used to ignoring his hunger. With a sigh he once again set up and pulled out his sketch book and pencil and began drawing. He wasn't even sure what it was going to end up as, he just let his hand move around the page. When he finished he pulled his hand away to see what he'd drawn. It was him again. The boy he'd been unconsciously drawing for the past week. It was odd, he's sure he's never seen the boy before, but for some reason he looked so familiar. He had dark hair, probably black, and light eyes and a scar running down his face barely missing his right eye.
This time the boy seemed to be grinning at something, what Wally had no idea, which was unusual because usually when he drew the boy he looked sad or angry never happy. He had no idea who this little boy, who looked about two years younger than himself, was. But he got the feeling he would find out someday, and when he did it would be the best day of his life. He continued to study the picture for several minutes before a loud knock on his door startled him.
"Get out here you stupid brat and clean the kitchen, and I'll consider allowing you to eat tonight." Yelled his mother form the other side of his door. He put his sketch book down and scrabbled off the bed and made his way to the door. As soon as he opened it he was met with a slap to his face, courtesy of his loving mother. As he picked himself off the ground after he fell form the force of the slap, he heard his mom walk off laughing. Rubbing his throbbing cheek, he made his way to the kitchen.
Once he got to the kitchen he looked around at all the dirty dishes he had to clean if he wanted food. He started to gather up what was on the table and taking them to the sink and started to wash them. After about an hour and half of cleaning up the kitchen he finally finished. Then his mom gave him about a third of a steak and spoon full of rice. He didn't say anything about the small size and thanked her before making his way back to his room.
After he finished his dinner, he went to his desk and sat down to do his homework. About half an hour into his studying his parents started to scream at each, as usual. He tried to concentrate on his work but then the argument was turned to him.
"It's your fault we have to deal with that stupid little brat!"
"How is it my fault? You his father, you just as much at blame as I am!"
"I wanted to get rid of the little bastard from the very get go!"
"Well how was I supposed to know he turn out to be a little failure that can't do anything right?!"
And so the conversation went constant arguing about whose fault it was that he was alive. He sighed when he realized that he wouldn't be doing anymore studying tonight. Instead he thought about something he had always considered just never did. Running away. The only difference was this time he was actually going to do it. He didn't really even have anything here. His parents didn't care. He was bullied at school because he was a science nerd. He wouldn't be missed.
Sure he had his uncle, but Barry would be better off without him to constantly get in the way. With his mind made up he pulled a backpack out of his closet and started to collect the things that he would need. Once he had all the essentials that were in his room together he just had to wait for his parents to go to sleep to get the rest. As he waited he started think about where he was going to go. He wanted to go somewhere that he wouldn't be noticed, somewhere far away from Keystone City. Somewhere where an eleven-year-old boy could walk down the street by himself and nobody would bat an eye. He glanced at his sketch book, the picture of the boy, and he suddenly knew exactly where to go. Gotham City.
Time skip – eight weeks
As Wally made his way down the run down streets of Gotham City he finally felt free for the first time in his short life. Here there was no one to tell him what to do. He was on his own, but that didn't scare him. As he walked passed a wealthy looking man in a suit, his hand stealthy slipped into the man's pocket emerging with his wallet.
Over the past eight weeks he had all but perfected the skill of pickpocketing. He had to if he was going to serve on the streets. Once he rounded the corner he pulled the wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open. The first thing he noticed was the ID, Bruce Wayne. Never heard of him. Then he found the large stack of hundred dollar bills. Score.
When he passed a TV shop, news report from Keystone caught his attention. "The search for Wallace West continues, even as his parents, Jack and Jill west, are arrested for child abuse and neglect. If you have any information on the eleven-year-olds whereabouts, please contact your local police. In other news…" The sight of his parents being lead out of their house in handcuffs in front of their neighbors was honestly very nice. Those bastards finally got what was coming to them. With that he continued down the street with a little bit more of a hope in his step. Looks like karma came to collect their debts.