A/N: Hey y'all! This is my first foray into a serious fic in a long time, so forgive me if I'm a bit rusty.

Some background for those of y'all that care: this really sprung forth from the idea of abused!Wally that's been seen a lot in this fandom. I know a lot of people have heard the story of how Rudy is basically a terrible dad in the DC Comicverse, and I think that's been expressed very well in some great fics here. But one thing I've been wanting to explore in particular is the idea of Rudy being a bad dad who at least tried at some point or another. And I've also been wanted to examine domestic violence through creative writing a human, approachable manner. So, there will be no evil, depraved, psychotic parents in this fic, but there will be mistreatment of a minor, which brings me to:

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMER: I in no way condone child abuse or domestic violence in any way, shape, form, or fashion. That being said, this is going to be a story about domestic violence and the journey a person takes to overcome it. For victims of abuse, this story may be triggering because there is going to be faulty logic, victim-blaming, and a LOT of dysfunctional thinking. Please heed this and other warnings to follow because it's going to get heavy relatively quickly.

There's More To It

By: LandSwimmer

1: Washing Cars on Sunday

Here comes the fist. Of course he sees it coming, clenched meaty fingers heading straight for his jaw, almost absurdly slow. There are nearly a dozen ways in which he could respond to this attack, all clear, practiced scenarios flashing through his head as nanoseconds tick by and bring the fist closer.

The simplest option would be to shift his shoulders back, maintaining his center of gravity and letting the momentum of the punch throw his assailant off balance without compromising his position or wasting any energy. Never ignore an opportunity to use your opponent's strength against him. The Batman's all about that.

He could catch the fist. Or the wrist, to be more practical. From there it would be as easy as 1,2,3 twist.

He could throw a fist of his own. He may have less body mass, but he's more experienced, more precise. He knows right where to hit to disorient his opponent, or even knock him out cold if he puts enough oompf in it. He could thrust the heel of his hand into his assailant's nose, crushing the septum and causing his eyes to tear, unfocused. He could flatten his hand and snap a quick blow to the throat, temporarily cutting off the airway. He could bring a knee up to the solar plexus, using minimal force to evoke intense pain.

He could run. He could be gone and out the door before the blow even comes close. He could run fast and far away, not stopping until he hit ocean.

But he doesn't run and he doesn't fight back and he doesn't even throw up his arms to defend himself because it's his dad. And it's not that easy. It's someone he loves, admires, respects, and yeah– occasionally mouths off to.

So, he forces down every instinct and reflex and lets the blow come. It's sloppy and painful, but he's been at the mercy of pain professionals and is barely knocked off balance. His dad is just pissed off, and Wally sees his behavior for what it is: a childish temper tantrum.

Let him get it out, if he's gonna get that pissed about it, he thinks bitterly, bringing his left hand up to gingerly run along his jaw while he uses his right arm to push against the hallway wall and regain footing. Working his jaw back and forth slowly (it isn't broken; he's had his jaw broken at least six times so he knows this much for sure), he lifts his gaze to meet his dad's. Anger, surprise, and regret flicker across Rudy West's face as his chest heaves with the physical repercussions of throwing all his strength into a poor hit. Wally just stands completely still, hand on his jaw, staring straight at his father. A few seconds creep by, marked only by the man's labored breathing, and then the tension seems to just slip from his shoulders. He turns away and unclenches his fists, which Wally takes as a green light to abandon the hallway in favor of his bedroom a few paces away.

He slips in quietly and eases the door shut, mindful of the volatile man still standing in the middle of the hallway. He berates himself mentally for getting into it with the old man, especially given his moodiness lately. Wally knows his dad and genuinely thinks he's a great guy, but patience has never been one of the man's virtues. And really, all he'd wanted Wally to do was wash the freaking car. How hard was that? But Wally had just gotten back from a two-day mission with the Team dealing with drug cartels in Mexico that had involved a lot of reconnaissance (mission lingo for running back and forth and back again) and a lot of desert heat, and he'd really been looking forward to just sleeping his Sunday afternoon and evening away upon the completion of the mission. His dad, however, obviously saw things differently.

"If you're going to use the car, you've got to take some responsibility for its upkeep," he'd insisted after Wally tried to convince him to just let him wash it the next day.

"Who says I'm ever gonna use that car in the first place?" Wally had fired back, irritable and exhausted. It had been the wrong thing to say; he knew it once the words left his lips. His dad had been infuriated, ranting on about "ungrateful" and "disrespectful" and lots of other "-fuls" that Robin would've pointed out. Wally's lack of energy to participate in the fight had only been interpreted as more disrespect to fuel his father's ire, which culminated in the final physical showdown in the hallway as Wally had tried to simply retreat to his room.

It's just such a stupid thing to get mad about, he thinks, angry at his dad but even angrier at himself for making the task into such an issue. He checks his face in the mirror. His jaw line is bruised a deep purple color already, which is good. If he gets enough nutrients in and crashes soon, by the time he wakes up for school tomorrow the mark should be completely faded. He pulls open his desk drawer, the one closest to his bed that's stacked with calorie-dense protein bars and grabs three from the pile. He makes quick work of the first one, chewing methodically and ignoring the dull soreness.

Just so stupid, he thinks again while peeling open his second bar. He's glad his mom isn't home at least. He always feels awful when she's around to see things escalate; his father does, too. They don't agree on much, but they at least try to suck it up around her because nothing makes a guy feel worse than making his mom or wife upset. And Mary is a loving, patient woman. She can't help that her son and husband are equally pigheaded. So, they try for her. It doesn't always work out, though. Case in point: Wally's jaw and the unwashed sedan in the driveway.

By the time Mary does get home from her chain of Sunday errands, Wally's eaten his three protein bars and regained enough energy to at least be a gentleman and help his mother with the groceries before claiming his sleep. He has enough food for a family of seven brought in and unpacked in less than a minute while his mother takes a brief rest at the kitchen table.

"Oh, thank you, Wally. I was so afraid you wouldn't be home yet. This would've taken ages without your help," she says, smiling warmly at his sweeping form.

"No problem, Mom," he replies easily. "It has been a rough one though, so I think I'm just gonna have a few more protein bars and crash if that's okay." He knows that making dinner for two is a lot less taxing than making dinner for two and a teenage speedster.

His mother finally catches his eye as he slows down, concern beginning to etch into the lines of her aging face. Her gaze immediately falls to the healing bruise on his face, and Wally really hopes it doesn't look as bad as it did before he came down.

"That does look rough," she says, and Wally is relieved to hear sympathy in her voice rather than that sad, angry, disappointed, defeated tone she always wears after his dad loses it on him. "Tell me you at least brought them down so I don't have to go hunting for the thugs who hurt my baby?"

Wally grins, trying not to let any bitterness show.

"You know it," he assures confidently. Before he can elaborate further, his father decides to make an entrance. Wally tenses inwardly, trying to anticipate the man's attitude. He looks relaxed enough, though. He walks over to greet his wife and catches Wally's eye on the way. It wouldn't be right to call his gaze apologetic, but it's not angry and seems civil enough so Wally relaxes and acknowledges the silent truce with a light nod.

"You guys eat," he says to his parents, moving swiftly through the kitchen to the living room and front door. "I'm just gonna wash the car really quick and then hit the hay." He's disgusted with the satisfied look in his dad's eyes that makes him look so justified but chokes it down because of the look on his mom's face. She loves seeing him help around the house, and it's worth it to see her smile. She's been doing less and less of that lately.

"Thank you so much, Wally. That's very thoughtful, especially considering the awful weekend I'm sure you had." He smiles and makes a quick exit out the front door before it melts into a scowl.

It didn't get awful until I got home. It's a terrible, cliché teenage thought, and Wally tries to ignore it as he quickly assembles the materials to wash the car in the driveway before the sun can go down. It's unseasonably warm for March in Missouri, but there's still a chill setting in during the evenings so Wally gets the job done as swiftly as possible. He nurses his wounded pride by convincing himself that he's being the bigger person and that things will be better tomorrow. He'll go to Happy Harbor right after school, and he'll see Arty and Dick and the rest of the Team and they'll train and banter and laugh and eat and things will be so much less complicated.

He doesn't say good night to either of his parents when he comes inside and trudges up the stairs to bed. He doesn't have the energy all that smiling earlier made his jaw hurt.

A/N: Okay, so hopefully that set the stage pretty well. I know it's short, but there wasn't much more I could include without spilling into the next section. To reiterate, I understand that the logic put forth by the characters at many points in the story, especially later as things get darker, is faulty at best but it in no way reflects my views on the subject.

Also, I couldn't wait for the season finale, so I watched the Portuguese-dubbed episodes and experienced the SPECTACULAR ending. However, I will be sensitive in these next few weeks to those that haven't and won't reveal anything big. Canon pairings, however, are going to be adhered to as they ended in the season finale, which basically means...Spitfire and Supermartian (and some others that I won't spoil). Which...come on, didn't we all see that happening? Since this does take place three months after the season finale, though, it will be completely AU in regards to the new season.

Hope y'all enjoyed! I'd certainly love to hear back from some folks!

LandSwimmer