AN: Another update~ Huzzah *~*~*\(o_o)\

Anyways, if there are any heroes/villains you would like me to mention, just let me know, and I'll try to work them in. Also, any speculation on plot points is also appreciated, because while I know pretty much where this is going, there's always plot tangents that might occur.

Thanks for reading, and please review. I read and cherish them all.

Chapter 4: Impostor.

Wally wasn't sure who he was looking at; the stranger staring back at him from inside the mirror, with the sunken-in eyes, and the long greasy hair...with the collar locked around his neck like a vice. This new person, it couldn't be him. He didn't look so tired, so defeated.

But it was...

Wally turned on the hot water, letting it run for a moment, before cupping his hands and dousing his face. He then carded damp fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame it back. He'd never let it get so long before...It wasn't him. It wasn't Wally West. It was some other person, a phantom self he'd pretended to be these past months.

He just wanted to feel like himself again.

There was a knock at the door and Wally quickly dried his face, rushing to answer it–too slow, not nearly fast as he should have been–pulling it slightly open. He didn't relax until he saw Dick on the other side, still dressed in his finest. He must have come straight from the gala.

"Hey, Wally." The former boy wonder said with a familiar crooked smile. "Good to see that you're awake."

"Couldn't sleep." Wally mumbled, pushing the door open a bit so his friend could come inside.

"I can get you some little sandwiches if you'd like. They're pretty good."

"Nah. I just ate."

He didn't miss Dick's eyes snapping to the untouched plate of food resting on the bedside table. Jeez. Nothing got past him. Just like the bat.

Dick walked further into the room, and flipped on the light. Wally would have been lying if he said he didn't flinch.

"There's someone here to see you."

"Who?" Wally asked. No. Demanded, his fists clenching at his sides. Who would be coming to see him at such a late hour?

Could it be–

"Wally. You have to run."

Half awake and confused, throwing on clothes in the dead of night, Wally stumbled as his uncle led him to the back door.

"They're coming for us."

Wally grabbed the man's sleeve, staring at him, open-mouthed.

"Uncle Barry, what–"

"Just run. And don't stop."

Heart pounding in his chest, the younger speedster shook his head. He wasn't going to leave without his uncle. No way.

"I can't leave Iris behind."

"They won't go after her she's–"

"Pregnant."

"How can they know that?" Wally demanded, tugging on his uncle's sleeve. "They won't hurt her, come on!"

The speedster stumbled as his uncle yanked his arm out of his grasp.

"Wally–"

"You're not listening to me!"

"Wally?"

No. It wasn't his uncle...but it was still someone he thought he'd lost...someone he missed.

During the purge, so many heroes had fallen off the map, and the former speedster had found himself wondering what had happened to them–to the Justice League members who were still missing, to his own friends and teammates–the purge had scattered them into the wind. Some reemerged, but, as he had languished in his cell back at the compound, he had often found himself wondering; how many had died trying to run? How many of his friends would he never see again?

Would he even make it out himself?

Now, as he saw Miss Martian standing in the doorway, he could only feel relief. She was here with them, beautiful and radiant and safe. She was safe.

But then...he saw that her eyes were wide; that she had a hand raised to her mouth, a shocked gesture...and he remembered.

He wasn't the Wally she knew. He was someone else, someone that the purge had forced him to become, hiding behind bruises and scruffy hair.

"You told her...didn't you?" The former speedster spat, turning to Dick.

"She needed to know." Dick murmured. "They needed to know."

"They?" Wally began, before Connor joined M'gann at the door, his face as impassive as ever. Wally suddenly wanted to hide, to bury his face in his hands, if only to mask the bruises still evident on his skin. He'd never told anyone about his situation at home...he'd never had to before, not with his super healing, but now, he was reduced to being like everyone else. No more hiding. No more secrets. And, in a world without heroes, they really only had each other to trust.

"I'm glad you're both okay." Wally murmured, forcing a smile. He really was, despite the circumstances...despite how they were looking at him. Their little team was almost whole again.

"When Dick said you were up here," M'gann began, taking a few steps further into the room, "I had to come see you. I had to come say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

M'gann nodded, a hand reaching up to her neck...her neck adorned with only a simple gold chain...no collar in sight.

"They didn't get you." He said, his voice filled with awe. If M'gann had managed to escape the Purge...who else had? Maybe there was still hope for Kaldur, for Hal, for his aunt and uncle. Maybe they'd managed to hide themselves all this time.

Why couldn't he have done the same?

"J'onn and I are headed overseas. There's rumors of a rocket in Russia that can get us back to Mars."

"Is there anyone else still out there?" Wally asked. He had to. If he didn't, he might never find out where Barry was...

M'gann shook her head.

"I haven't found anyone who didn't have one of those collars."

Wally sighed, his eyes falling to the floor.

He should have known.

"But, I did meet Jay Garrick and his wife." M'gann said with a small smile. "They wanted to know how you were."

"Jay?"

He remembered the first time he'd met Jay, the oldest of the speedsters, the hero who refused to hide behind a mask, who found his inspiration in the Roman god Mercury. Despite how his powers had been caused by latent genes instead of chemicals, Jay had still been the leader of their little group, retired though he claimed to be.

Wally hadn't thought to contact him...

Hadn't thought about it once.

There was no feeling like it; like running along the rooftops, the wind in his hair, feeling alive and young and free for the first time in his life. For a moment, he wasn't some street kid. He wasn't an orphan. He could be whoever he wanted to be: a hero, a vigilante, a savior to the others like him who were victims of circumstance. Putting on the mask and the cape, he could slip into the shoes of one of the fallen heroes, specifically a fallen sidekick, one he'd looked up to his entire life...and one of the faces he had prayed to see as he held his mother's cooling body in his arms.

But, it had happened after the time of heroes, and this particular sidekick, like his mentor, had given up their crusade, leaving justice unserved, leaving the people of Gotham unprotected, vulnerable.

No.

Gotham needed a hero. Without someone to stop it, crime would only spread, like a disease. It would make its way through the entire city, until it was infected, until the sickness had seeped in straight to the core.

Jason Todd wouldn't let that happen.

Robin wouldn't let that happen.

He wasn't an acrobat, not by a long shot, but he was still graceful enough; quick on his feet, young, agile. He'd been practicing. Empty lots and abandoned warehouses were his training grounds. He'd picked fights, made contacts, and snatched necessary tools right from beneath gangster's noses. No guns though. As cowardly as he thought the bat was, he would uphold his ideals. Guns were dirty things, and death too easy a punishment for the scum of the earth. Jason preferred breaking noses, bones, skulls. He'd traded in Robin's shoes for a pair of steel-toed boots. But, the rest of the outfit was accurate enough. As was his hair. He'd managed to snag a box of cheap black die so he could look the part. Gone was the bright red. The dark color suited him, made him look older and more serious. And wasn't that what he wanted?

There was a scream below, and Jason dropped, landing on a nearby fire escape, pulling a club from his belt. Two thugs, harassing a young woman. Not in Gotham. Not while he was around.

Fighting had come natural to him, as simple as breathing. A kick to one man's ribs sent him reeling. The other got his skull cracked against a wall. The entire altercation took only seconds, but left Jason's heart pumping, adrenaline running through his veins.

"Y-you're Robin, right?" The lady asked, visibly shaking. Jason nodded, before fishing out one of his new grappling hooks–courtesy of a now defunct street gang–and flew away, taking to the rooftops once more.

There was no law that said that Robin had to be Dick Grayson. He could be Robin too.

He'd be a better Robin than that kid ever was.

Tim Drake surveyed the room with cold eyes, taking in the multitude of familiar faces; celebrities, politicians. Bruce had known a great deal of influential people in his day. Hard to believe that he had deceived them all. And yet, they seemed to be all too forgiving. Was it because of his money, his fame? Was it because he was broken, a shell of his former self? If it was because the people truly forgave him, Tim had no faith in their judgement. Bruce Wayne did not regret being Batman. He did not regret the things he did, or what he failed to do. If he wasn't confined to that chair, he might never have accepted civilian life. It wasn't in his nature. He was more bat than man.

Tim started as his phone rang in his pocket. Excusing himself from his father's side, the boy slunk off, answering the phone as he went, noting that it was a call from his boss. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. News from Eclipse was never good.

"Sir?" Tim asked, leaning against a wall. He listened for a moment, eyes widening when he heard what his superior had to say.

"No, sir. I don't see Grayson anywhere."

He scanned the room again, searching for the familiar face of Richard Grayson, Bruce's ward, and the former Robin. Nothing. He wasn't by Bruce's side. He wasn't with any of the man's close friends. He was gone.

"He's not here."

Tim continued to listen, his grip on the phone tightening, his eyes narrowing.

"And he eluded you?"

...

"Yes. Send a truck. He might have returned by now, and if not, we'll be ready."

With that, Tim hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket, returning to the table where he left his father.

"It's time for you to go home." He said, wheeling the man toward the door. "Things are about to get interesting here."