A/N: Bart in this chapter too, along with other characters and a lot more explaining on how the world's been going the last 7 or so years. Deviates from the comics a lot - especially when it comes to the Arrows - so be prepared. I'd like to thank my beta Mahlia a lot. I do not own Young Justice. Thanks, guys!
Step 4: Cure Any Existing Medical Problems
"Well, here he is," Wally announced, dumping Bart on the table in front of where Aunt Iris was sitting. In a blink, Bart was off the table and seated next to her, glaring up at Flash and muttering, "About time you put me down can't carry a minor without permission just because Grandma likes you." Aunt Iris jumped, hands flying to Bart as she enveloped him in a hug, Wally watching a bit enviously. That's one of the things Wally had missed about her, she gave the best hugs.
"You found him!" she exclaimed, looking up to Wally. "Have you…?"
Wally, Flash, shook his head. "No. I told you, I don't know how."
"What?" piped up Bart, looking from one to the other.
"Fix you, Bart," Aunt Iris answered, still keeping her eyes on Wally. "So you don't have to live in the virtual reality machine anymore."
"Really?" he squeaked, looking from his aunt to the Flash. "How?"
How, indeed, was the golden question. "I'm working on it," he answered, avoiding eye contact with either of them – although hopefully they wouldn't be able to tell, because of the cowl and stuff. "Look, I'd love to help right now, but there's actually a bit of an emergency I have to take care of." Oh, he was a bad, dirty, rotten liar. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Can you guys hang tight here until then, or…?" he looked up to Aunt Iris, who was frowning, but she nodded anyways, keeping her hands on Bart's shoulders. "Cool. And, um, thanks. Talk to you later." And then Wally was gone.
Of course there was nothing he had to deal with. He'd been finishing patrol when he found Aunt Iris in the first place. And how the hell was he supposed to magically heal some kid? Well he has a super-metabolism, Wally. You have a super-metabolism. Duh. Help him or he'll die in six years. No pressure or anything.
He stopped running at the edge of Keystone City, not quite sure what his destination would be. He ran through his normal list of people he went to with his
special problems. Well, if he couldn't handle it himself, usually the League. He paused on that possibility. Did he really want the League involved in this? No, not really, not at all. It was a little too personal. Iris and Bart had come to him. It was his problem, his family-
Wow. He hadn't said that word in quite a long time.
If it was personal and he just needed advice, he'd phone (or whatever the interspace word for phone was, he could never remember) Con and Meg. It was soothing, talking to actual people who'd survived the whole superhero thing and not become screwed up or dead. Now they were happily married on Mars, with an actual life that didn't involve dressing up in costumes and saving people from crazed lunatics and everything. Well, Jay kind of had that too, but he and Wally hadn't really spoken since Barry died. He was the link between them. When he was gone – well, Wally had barely spoken to Dick, let alone…
Dick?
Ha. Funny.
That kid was even more messed-up than he was. They still talked to each other, got together, sometimes, but they weren't exactly close anymore. Right after Barry had died and Wally shut himself off from everybody, Dick had gotten in this huge fight with Bruce and almost got himself killed in Bludhaven the next week trying to become his own hero. At which point he and Wally had gotten into a huge screaming match.
Wally, you don't understand!
Understand what? What exactly don't I understand? You're such an idiot! You could be dead!
But I'm not! Don't you see? I can handle things myself. I'm my own person. I'm not inferior. Bruce can't fucking –
At least he's alive, you asshole!
They didn't speak to each other for over a year. After Robin II had died, Dick and Bruce had gotten into another fight, but at least they acknowledged each other's existence. For a brief period of time, Nightwing and Batman had worked together more often then not, and Dick had started to rekindle their old friendship again.
Then, of course, Bruce had stated that he was getting a new Robin a couple months ago, and the whole thing went to hell.
When Batman announced it to the JL, Nightwing had burst through the door five minutes later (Wally hadn't even known that he regularly hacked the League computers) and started shouting. He managed to get Bruce outside the room (Wally had never heard Batman yell before then) and eventually they just disappeared. Probably back to the Batcave. Wally had never heard what happened, and frankly, he was scared to find out. They hadn't killed each other, at least.
Anyways – not Dick. Bad idea.
There were various other people he could have gone to, but it wasn't really like any of them knew anything about super speed anyways. So he just ran, let himself chase the setting sun, let his feet pound along familiar roads and pathways westward.
I can't believe Aunt Iris is alive. Not just alive- from the future! I can't believe Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris had kids. I can't believe Aunt Iris is old. She's a grandma. What does that make me? Cousin-something. Cousin once removed. Maybe. I can't believe Bart's my cousin. What happened to Bart's parents? Bart doesn't look a thing like Uncle Barry or Aunt Iris. Freaking gold eyes. Freaking family. I wonder how they're going to leave again. Do you think I could go back to the future with them when Bart gets fixed somehow? Well, probably not. I mean, she only let the world think she was dead for years before coming back…I can't believe she was alive and didn't tell me…
His world suddenly rocked a little as something suspiciously arrow-shapedhit his feet and he pitched forward, not quite catching himself in time to prevent getting a nice, painful scrape over his chin. He winced as he stopped face-first on the ground, hearing the heavy pad of feet as two familiar black boots landed in front of him.
"You suck," he called loudly from the asphalt of Star City.
"Ouch, that is one ugly scratch. You should grow out those lovely ginger whiskers of yours to hide it."
"It'll heal in a couple hours," he corrected automatically, "and anyways, Red, you can't make any ginger jokes. Your hair's as bright as mine."
Roy Harper, aka Red Arrow, flashed a wicked grin at him as Wally pushed himself up to his feet. "Yeah, but I keep mine short."
"Yeah, well, I have a cowl." He gestured redundantly to the top of his head. "No need for army cuts. And chicks dig the hair."
Red Arrow rolled his eyes. "Flash, nobody says that anymore, you dork. Anyways, is there a reason why you're here?"
Wally gently rubbed his chin. He didn't think it was bleeding anymore, at least. "Well, it was to let you see my beautiful face, but seeing as you tried to destroy it-"
"Hey, I didn't mean for you to trip on the arrow, I just had to stop you somehow."
"Yeah, right. I suppose a com would have been a little too convenient?"
Red laughed. "Didn't think of that."
Wally rolled his eyes behind the cowl, making it obvious so that Roy would know what he was doing. "You're just jealous of my awesome physique."
Roy raised an eyebrow, from what he could tell. "I would say you hit your head a bit too hard, but I know you're always this crazy. So, no emergencies, then?"
Wally sighed. "Nah," he answered, deliberately not trying to think about Bart and Aunt Iris. "Nothing urgent."
"Cool," Roy replied then, shooting a grappling arrow up onto the nearest roof. "Let's have a talk, then."
Wally looked up to the top of the building warily before running up there himself. A talk? Since when did he and Roy have talks? That didn't sound good. He found Roy kneeling on the roof, bow in one hand, the other twitching over his quiver. "I'm kind of glad you're here, actually, Waldo," Roy continued nonchalantly.
"What?"
"Waldo. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I'm thinking that's your new name. Anyways, Waldo, I have a bit of a problem, and seeing as your moral compass always points north, I figure you're the guy I need to talk to about it."
Wally, who was in the middle of sticking his tongue out at Red behind his back, paused at the words. "Really? Since when am I the angel of us all? Everybody's always getting on at how disrespectful and stuff I am."
"You don't mean any of it," Roy replied. "You're always been the best at knowing what's right, anyways. You've never lost it. Ignored it, maybe, but never lost it."
"…Thank you?" he questioned, walking over to sit next to where Roy was kneeling, scanning the streets below him.
"Anyways, I have a problem."
"Dude, you have many."
"Shut up," he commented. "No, really. You remember Ollie? I mean, of course you do. Everyone does." He paused, suddenly looking down, arms tightening around his bow.
Wally hesitated again before answering. He still wasn't over Barry's death – he really didn't think he was the person to go to for dead mentor help. "What about Ollie?" he finally asked back.
Roy let out of huff of air. "Ollie," he said to the rooftop, "Ollie had a son."
A what?
No way. Not after what was currently waiting back in Keystone for him to return. No way.
"A son. A freaking son," Roy continued violently, ignoring Wally's shocked silence. "And Ollie knew about him. He knew about him, and didn't tell anyone. Didn't tell me. Didn't mention him in the will, didn't nothing. I only found out because of these papers he had stuffed in the back of some filing cabinet in the Arrow cave. He's real, Wally, he's Ollie's real son. There's blood tests and everything, and I've double checked all the records of his existence in the state. The kid's off being raised in some monastery or something right now. Ollie just left him there. His son. His damn son!"
Wally couldn't remember the last time Roy had just outright told him something like that. Roy never talked about…well, anything. This must have really been bothering him.
Well, why wouldn't it? Unlike Wally, this little kid wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
"After everything," Roy continued, "Well, I know we had our differences and shit, but in the end, he left me everything. The money, the mansion, the gig. I thought…well, the least he could do was let me know of all the bastard children he was leaving behind too."
Roy, Ollie still considered you the closest thing he had to a son. Don't worry about it. "Wow," he said dully instead. "What are you going to do?"
Roy sighed. "I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue. But, Wally – he's Ollie's son. I can just leave him to be raised by monks. All monks are creepers. Everyone knows that."
"Dude," he interjected automatically, "That's so racist."
"Monks aren't a race, genius."
"Whatever. So, what, you're going to raise him?"
He hadn't meant it seriously, but Roy's face darkened again. "I don't know. Don't know at all. I mean, me, raising a kid. Even if we forget this part of my job," he loosed an arrow into the sky, watching as it exploded into a bunch of red sparks in the air, "I still can't raise a kid. But I can't just leave him there. I'm not Ollie. He deserves to know. God, I don't know what to do, Wally. He deserves to know."
Wally gave him a small look. "I think you've found your answer, then. Talk to him first. How old is he?"
Roy sighed. "Ten. Twelve. I forget. You sure? What if it ruins his life, though? How do you know? Wally, how do you always know? I mean, what do you do that solves all your problems?"
Wally snorted. "Only thing I can do. I run."
Roy gave a strangled laugh. "And when that doesn't work?"
Wally shrugged, thinking about it. Every single problem he'd ever faced could usually be solved with running. And when that didn't work? "Run faster," he said.
Wait…every single problem…
"I run faster," he repeated, and then jumped suddenly to his feet. "That's it! Red, you're a genius!"
Roy gave his the weirdest look. "And you're crazy."
"I'll be – heyIheardthat," he spoke, vibrating a little in place in anticipation. "Anyways, back in a-"
"Don't say it!"
"I was going to say couple of days, dude," Wally answered. "You're paranoid. Seeya!"
"I've got it!" Wally announced as he stopped with an abrupt halt in front of his relatives back at the police station, but however was immediately shushed by his aunt. "What?" he mouthed to her. She glanced pointedly to the table in the middle of the office, where Bart was sprawled out on its surface, snoring lightly. The wrappers of the couple dozen or so granola bars Wally kept stacked in here for emergencies were piled on the chair.
"Oh," he whispered. Was it just his imagination, or did Bart already look older in the couple of hours he was gone? "Um…what do I do?"
Aunt Iris rolled her eyes. "Wake him up gently or else he'll get scared and run. He's not used to waking up here."
Wally was seriously considering asking Aunt Iris to do it, but faltered when she gestured him forward impatiently. Apparently she really wanted him to. No big deal; he was the Flash, after all. If he could fight off baddies surely he could wake up an eleven-year old.
He stepped cautiously up to where Bart was sleeping and poked him in the arm. He glanced over his shoulder at Aunt Iris, who was expressionless, before turning around and poking Bart again, harder. This time Bart groaned and twitched in his sleep. "Bart," Wally hissed again, grabbing the boy's shoulder and shaking him a little bit. Bart jumped, his eyes snapping open. He gave Flash a disoriented stare, twisted his arm away, and was flinging himself off the table and towards the door before Wally realized he was awake already.
Wally flung out his arm and was able to snag the side of Bart's jumpsuit before he'd shot out the door. He stumbled a few steps forward as Bart fell back, struggling in Wally's arms.
"Hey, hey, it's me," Wally tried telling him, but Bart just flailed harder. "It's me, Flash, remem-"
He cut himself off when Bart's hand attached itself to one of the lightning bolts on his cowl and started tugging it backwards. "Hey!" he repeated indignantly, as Bart then grabbed the other one to and started to shake them both like he was a bull rider. "You don't like the cowl? Fine! I was never really a fan either." Using one hand to make sure Bart didn't escape (or more of fall, at this point, because Wally was basically carrying him) Wally used his other the pull the cowl off his head to reveal his face for the first time. Hey, if he couldn't trust family from the future, who could he trust?
Bart stopped when Wally revealed his head, frowning. "You look funny."
"Thanks," Wally said slowly, setting Bart back on the ground. Bart was still giving him a look of puzzlement.
"I never pictured you with a face," he stated.
"Oh," Wally, looking to Aunt Iris for help. She was smiling to herself, but still offered nothing. "Well, I have one. Everyone does."
"Are you sure?" Bart asked quizzically.
"Yeah. I have name, too."
Bart snorted. "I know that. It's the Flash, silly."
"Well, I have a name that goes with my face." "Ohhhhhh." Great, now he understands. "What is it?"
"My name is Wally."
Bart, who'd seemed fairly serious the whole time, suddenly burst into giggles. "Haha! Ha! Your name is Wallace?"
Why is that so funny? "Your name is Bartholomew."
"Touché."
Wally eyed Bart suspiciously. That had sounded just a little too normal. "Do you even know what that means?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes!" Bart squawked indignantly. "It means touchy. In French."
Oh, Bart.
"Grandma said so."
Wally resisted the urge to slap himself in the forehead, instead raising an eyebrow at Iris, who shrugged, smirking to herself. "Look, Bart. I was actually wondering if you wanted to run with me."
He perked up. "Really? Where?"
"Where?" Aunt Iris echoed, giving Wally a look. Wally really wished she would speak more, instead of insisting on this let-Bart-and-Wally-bond endeavor. Bart would be going back to the future, anyways, Wally really didn't need to get to know him that well, to be honest. He would have rather spent time with Iris.
"Nowhere in particular," he answered, staring at Aunt Iris while using one hand to find Bart's and grasp it firmly. "Just a little run for our health. I mean," he looked back down again to find Bart's big, golden eyes, "It's not every day I meet someone as fast as you."
Bart beamed, using their connected hands to start to pull Wally out of the office, barely noticing as Wally pulled the cowl back up on the way. "You know I've never met anyone as fast as me either. Except you, of course. I've never just really gone on a run, either. Do you do this a lot? Do you think maybe we could stop for a snack on the way? I'm hungry. Those rectangle things were awful. Do you really eat those? I'm kinda thirsty too. Maybe-"
As soon as they were outside, Wally jerked on Bart's hand as to lead him into a run. Bart winced a little bit and struggled to adjust to the blistering 0-to-800 pace Wally had set, never once letting up the pressure on his hand.
Wally couldn't let himself stop, slow down. Something had to happen. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but if he ran fast enough, something would. Something always did. Speedsters defied the laws of everything like that. He just had to run fast enough.
"Flash," a small voice said next to him. He had to ignore it. "Wally," Bart pleaded. "My hand hurts."
Instead, he just stepped up the pace a little bit, blurring into Supersonic speed. Mach 2, mach 3, mach 4. Much faster than the speed of sound at this point; He couldn't exactly hear Bart's words as much as feel them. "I've never gone this fast before. Flash, can we slow down?" He struggles for breath. "I hurt all over. I need a break." Finally, "Wally, let go of me!"
He desensitizes himself so the boy's words mean nothing to him. Hypersonic speeds now. Mach 7, mach 8. Bart is…he doesn't let himself focus on Bart, because if he does, he'll slow down, and if he slows down, Bart will die. The thought fuels him. He needs to run to save his cousin's life. Not just anyone's life – his cousin.
At mach 10, traveling over two miles every second, Bart seems to have reached his limit. Wally's not surprised. It's a rough pace to maintain, even for him, and there have been silent tears on Bart's face for a little while now. It's faster than anything he would have reached when he was that relative age. Wally was sprinting when Bart's hand simply slipped from his. Bart kept up with him for two steps, and then fell to his knees.
They stopped by a small lake somewhere, surrounded by trees just beginning to show their spring buds. Probably Minnesota, Wally thought absently, the place is full of them. For a second, Bart was just on his knees, panting into the earth. Then he groaned, and keeled over, losing the fight with an exhausted body.
Wally dripped a little water from the lake onto Bart's forehead as a form of makeshift sweat, to make sure he didn't overheat, and then looked over the rest of him. His limp form didn't protest at all as Wally prodded his limbs, trembling a little from exertion. Muscle exhaustion, mostly likely. Probably needs food and water. Wally looked down to Bart's hand, lying curled on the ground. Probably needs an ice pack for that hand, too. It was already bruised.
Bart's limbs seemed thinner than before, his face a little longer. He now seemed more like a twelve, rather than an eleven year old. The part of his mind that had never grown out of its science geek phase started supplying him explanations. His body had probably never used that amount of energy at a time before, wasn't used to it, had started burning everything it could all at once, working faster to keep up, so Bart had grown a year in minutes. Hopefully, this sudden slow down would shock it down to normal aging. He should be cured.
Carefully, Wally picked Bart up and started a gentle jog back to Keystone. Bart would be fine.
