Star City
June 7, 1941 – 10:48 EDT

Roy Harper glanced tetchily at his watch for the fifth time in the last three or so minutes, his eyebrows tight and his mouth thin. Main Street was bustling around him without pause, but he was rooted in place in front of the already-packed soda shop, his unruly red hair sticking out in all directions.

He had rolled up the sleeves of his gray slacker jacket ages ago, hardly one to ignore the ascending summer heat. Star City always started growing warmer at the end of spring, and by June alone, it was already close to intolerable. The sky was an unimpeded blue, and not even the faintest twitch of a breeze graced the heat-wave-riddled avenues. That probably explained why the soda shop was filled to the corners with customers – and if Roy had to spend one more second waiting outside of it than sitting inside with a bowl of ice cream, he was probably going to commit homicide.

Green Arrow would not approve of such an act, but it wasn't as though the mustachioed bungler had any say in Roy's life at this point; or at least, Roy liked to think he didn't. He hadn't actually spoken to Oliver Queen since March, but that hadn't stopped the latter from casually depositing a hefty sum into his bank account every month. Roy cared more about maintaining distance from Ollie than he did about asserting his independence, so he kept his mouth shut and pretended not to notice.

He scowled down at his watch again, which glinted cheerfully back at him. He was starting to sweat. If he had to stand out here for one more second—

He heard a sudden, telltale whoosh from behind the establishment, and before he even had the chance to turn around and investigate the source, Wally West had sprinted over to him from the back alleyway, screeching to a halt and doubling over to catch his breath practically at Roy's feet.

"About time, Kid!" Roy snapped. "You said you'd be here at 10:30!"

"Sorry, sorry," Wally puffed, straightening. His hair was, naturally, tousled, along with his short-sleeved button-up white shirt and beige slacks.

"It just figures that the Fastest Boy Alive is late to everything," Roy muttered. Wally didn't hear him. "C'mon, West, let's go in before the place starts teeming over."

Wally obliged him, trying to smooth down his haywire hair and failing miserably. Roy led the way into the crowded soda shop, shouldering past a group of giggling middle-school girls as Wally bobbed along behind him.

They finally reached the counter, where the petulant-looking soda jerk, a twenty-something named Rhonda, was chewing her bubble gum loudly. Roy opened his mouth to order, but Wally crowded over first.

"I'll take two malts," he said nonchalantly, pulling out two quarters and slamming them onto the counter. Rhonda raised one penciled eyebrow before loping over to the silver machinery against the back wall.

"Just one for me," Roy added pointedly as he dropped five nickels, staring at Wally, who had the decency to look sheepish.

"Big appetite," the younger boy explained lamely. Roy shook his head and pointed his gaze to the ceiling, but didn't press the issue. Rhonda was back in a heartbeat, sliding two glasses to Wally and dropping a third in front of Roy.

She languidly picked up their change and put it in the pinging cash register before calling out, "Next!"

Roy didn't know how they managed it, but he and Wally were able to find two unoccupied stools at the end of the soda bar. Wally hopped up onto his in an instant, already starting in on his first malt, and Roy rolled his eyes before joining him.

"So," Wally began just when the silence between them was beginning to border on awkward. "How's tricks?"

Roy glanced aside at him, admittedly surprised that he even cared.

"Fine, I guess," he grunted back. "Operating outta three different cities, few hospital visits here and there… nothing really worth talking about."

Wally snorted into his malt.

"Oh, yes. The usual affair," he agreed sarcastically. "Green Arrow said you've gone toe-to-toe with…" He lowered his voice, glancing around conspiratorially. "The League of Shadows."

Roy let out an annoyed huff.

"Green Arrow doesn't know anything!" he snapped. "…But he's right."

Wally could have just been told that Roy had been elected President of the United States and his expression would look no different.

"Wh—Who?!" he spluttered out. "Where? When? Jumpin' jelly beans, how many?!"

"Calm down, Kid!" Roy hushed him emphatically. "You'll vibrate through the soda bar!"

"Tell me everything," Wally insisted with protuberant, awestruck eyes.

"It's—" Roy grimaced. Sharing a blow-by-blow account of how he had narrowly escaped death at the hands of the ruthless (and infuriating) assassin known as Cheshire was not how he had planned on spending his afternoon with Wally. "It was just once. I barely fought any of them. It was just reconnaissance, they spotted me, I managed to get away. Fended off Cheshire long enough to make a break for it."

"Cheshire?!" Wally squawked. "The Cheshire?! As in 'smile as you kill?!'"

"Wally, if you don't keep it down—" Roy snarled. Wally threw up his hands defensively.

"Don't flip your wig, Harper, just spill the beans!" he insisted. "How'd you get away?"

"I feinted and dodged until she got bored, and then I ran," Roy said bluntly, tactfully omitting the details involving the fact that she had sent him off with an inexplicable good-bye kiss that was miraculously not laced with poison. Insignificant details.

Wally deflated, looking sorely disappointed.

"How is it that you manage to make fighting the League of Shadows sound about as boring as Shakespeare?" he grumbled, snatching his second malt.

"We're not all a bunch of doll dizzy blockheads," Roy retorted with a smirk. Wally scoffed in response.

There was another lapse into silence for a moment, but Roy cleared his throat and broke it.

"How about you?" he asked. "How's the new gig?"

"Oh, the Junior Justice League?" Wally beamed, clearly approving of Roy's question. "That's what we call ourselves. Killer-diller, thank you very much! We're a bit of a ragtag bunch, but we've done okay for ourselves. Haven't had many missions, but Batman says that'll pick up once the cold weather hits. Apparently the baddies are twice as evil when the temp drops."

Roy stared at him as he babbled enthusiastically, wondering whether he should help continue his rambling by asking for further explanation or just let him spew everything out at his usual speed.

He decided on the latter, since Wally didn't seem like he'd be coming up for air anytime soon.

"Okay, so!" Wally raised one hand enthusiastically, ticking off team members on his fingers. "Kal got elected to be leader – well, maybe not elected per se, but he did a swell job bossing us around on the Nelso—uh, the last mission, so he's in charge; isn't that great? And then there's Rob, always a charmer; oh, and you went steaming out before you could meet Supey! Superboy, that is. Major emotional constipation, but he's a great guy; real hit at parties and the like. Literally a hit. HAH! Because he hits things!" He laughed heartily at his own joke and Roy forced a twitch of a smile onto his face in response. "This is all top-secret, so I'm probably not allowed to tell you, but he's a clone of Superman—crazy, right?"

"Yeah, crazy," Roy muttered, not expecting Wally to pay any mind to his response.

"Man, Roy, you've gotta swing by sometime!" Wally implored him. "Just wait'll you meet Miss Martian!" He leaned in, adopting a serious expression. "But I saw her first." He swayed back out, continuing undaunted. "Sweetest cookie on the Eastern Seaboard, and in the meantime she can flip cities over with her brain! She's a knockout!"

Roy was sure that if Miss Martian could legitimately flip cities over with her brain, the Justice League would not have her on a ragtag team of ex-sidekicks.

"And..." Wally's face had darkened while Roy had gone off on his brief thought, and he looked frighteningly close to suddenly throwing his milkshake into a wall. "We've got this new archer, too."

Roy's eyes widened.

"You've what?!" he exclaimed, hating the genuine shock in his voice. "You – Green Arrow never told me!"

He didn't know why he would have expected Green Arrow to tell him. Their lack of contact – which had been of Roy's volition, and hardly of Ollie's – had thrown him about as far out of the loop as he could be, and it wasn't as though Roy had demanded to be caught up on Ollie's life in the past few months.

Still, it stung. He had been replaced. Without a word, without so much as a blink, Green Arrow had replaced him. It had only been four months since he'd cut ties and gone solo, and yet Green Arrow had already brought in a new model.

Roy gripped his malt, and his knuckles blanched.

"Who is he?" he demanded in a low tone.

Wally cleared his throat, clearly noticing Roy's averse reaction to the news.

"She," he corrected him delicately, "is Artemis."

Roy's eyebrows shot up. She?

"A girl?" he exclaimed, not even bothering to try to mask his total shock. A girl wielding a bow? A girl working as Green Arrow's sidekick, patrolling the streets at night, getting bloodied and bruised, beating up thugs before breakfast? It was unimaginable. It was ludicrous. "Are you joking?"

"Scout's honor," Wally insisted, raising his hand solemnly. Roy didn't bother pointing out that he was reproducing the Girl Scouts' sign instead of the Boy Scouts'. "This broad's a firecracker, Roy. She's completely berserk. I'm talking The Human Monster here. Her soul is The Door With Seven Locks."

"Don't be stupid," Roy barked. "Is she any good? I mean – what's her deal?"

Wally shrugged apathetically, looking as though he was trying to force himself to appear bored.

"No clue. She just showed up out of the blue and that was that. Apparently, she's G.A.'s niece. Nepotism, if you ask me, since she's a terrible harpy and all." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing and returning to the last of his second malt.

Roy frowned. That sounded distinctly suspicious, since he was fairly certain that Ollie had no immediate relatives that he knew of, unless Black Canary counted (she might as well, but the woman didn't seem like the type to have nieces).

"Green Arrow doesn't have a niece," Roy said before he could stop himself. "No way."

Wally blinked at him, looking surprised.

"Well, I guess everybody's got a little something up their sleeve." He shrugged again, lifting one lopsided shoulder. "Anyway, I don't see the family resemblance. Except for the blonde hair."

Roy paused at Wally's latter comment, glancing at the younger boy with a knowing glint in his eye.

"You love blondes," he commented nonchalantly. Wally bristled, and for a moment, it looked like his hair was about to puff up.

"Soullessness usually counteracts hair color," he snapped, his cheeks flushing. Roy rolled his eyes, pushing his empty glass away. There was still a bitter feeling stewing in his chest, but he tried not to pay it any heed.

He'd take the matter up with Ollie.

"Look, when you meet her, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about," Wally was saying, and Roy pulled himself out of his thoughts to listen.

His brow tightened.

"Meether?" he repeated testily. Wally poked his index fingers together, eyes flicking away.

"Well, uh, yeah, see..." he stammered. "I was kinda hoping..."

"If you're trying to set me up with this dame, Wally..." Roy growled threateningly, and Wally jumped and waved his hands around in denial, eyes wide.

"No! No, no no! What are you, nuts?" he shouted. "No, no... there's just..."

He grimaced, bowing his head, and Roy tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, after inhaling, he started to talk.

Happy Harbor

The previous day, 17:12 EDT

"West!"

Wally let out a yelp of shock when he felt a clump of dirt sharply hit the back of his head. With a gasp, he whirled around to see a cluster of barrel-chested boys standing a few feet away, all sneering at him. At the front of the pack was a tall and honestly terrifying-looking fellow with a chiseled jaw and beady brown eyes that seemed to be permanently narrowed.

Wally straightened, skin crawling at the dirt caked on the back of his neck, and lifted his worn baseball cap off of his head, resting his hands on his hips.

"Rogers," he barked, inclining his head curtly.

Stan Rogers had never been one of Wally's favorite people. He was the esteemed leader of Happy Harbor's obligatory posse of meatheads, and he had no trouble broadcasting it – Wally had only had one or two run-ins with him since the Team had erected its home base at Mt. Justice, but not one of them had been pleasant.

Stan was also captain of the local sandlot baseball team, which Wally had accidentally forgotten. This didn't bode well for him, considering the fact that he and Robin had just started practicing on the sandlot that "belonged" to Stan and his ensemble.

Baseball was something that Wally took very seriously. His father had taught him to play when he was a kid, and he'd never let the skill start to lull. He would spend multiple afternoons and evenings at Wayne Manor, enthusiastically listening to games on the radio with Robin, who shared his gusto.

He'd been planning on spending his summer days in Happy Harbor playing baseball with Robin, maybe putting together a team sooner or later; the local sandlot was an ideal spot, naturally, but he'd entirely disremembered the fact that it was Stan's territory, and that if he and Robin wanted to use it, it would have to be battled for.

"Ah, the cavemen have come out to play!" Robin sang out from behind Wally, strutting forward and stopping beside him, leaning on his baseball bat. He smirked at the group through his Ray-Bans. "What an honor."

"Pipe down, Grayson," Stan barked, stepping forward menacingly. "You think you're so smart, but last I checked, chimney brushes don't got no brains."

Robin considered this, stroking his chin.

"I'm trying to find some sense made in that statement," he mused, "but it's really not working out."

"What do you want, Rogers?" Wally demanded hotly.

"Give ya three guesses," Stan sneered, and one of his cronies snickered. "This is our field, genius. Last I checked, that means only weget to use it."

"Yes, well, according to the Constitution, every man has the right to life, liberty, and property," Dick riposted airily.

"Pursuit of happiness," Wally grumbled.

"Not my property, pipsqueak," Stan snapped. "Now move along. We've got a game to play."

"Against who?" Wally asked.

Stan blinked.

"Uh... against... against None of Your Business!" he flummoxed, and his friends nodded in agreement. "Doesn't matter, West! If you want use of the lot, you're gonna have to get our permission!"

"Who died and put you in charge?!" Wally yelled.

"Who put you in charge and died?!" Dick added with cynical drama, letting out a gasp. Wally stared at him for a moment before shaking his head, choosing to ignore him.

"Why don't we have a game to decide who gets the lot for the summer?" he suggested adamantly, folding his arms and raising a challenging eyebrow. "My team against yours."

"What team?" one of Stan's friends inquired snidely.

Wally flushed indignantly, scrambling for an answer.

"Well, that would obviously be the... the..." He glanced at Dick, who was staring idly at the sky, totally unhelpful as usual.

"The Flashbirds," he heard himself say decisively, and he followed it by folding his arms triumphantly and smirking at Rogers and his entourage. "Or, if you're not inclined toward the whole brevity thing... the Ones Who're Gonna Kick Your Cans from Here to Schenectady."

Stan straightened up at his words, a glare that went beyond mockery forming on his face. His friends looked at each other and whispered amongst themselves, glancing questioningly at him as though waiting for orders.

Wally tensed involuntarily, his hands curling into fists, and secured his hat back on his head defiantly, jerking his chin at the other boys. Dick seemed to notice the tension in the air, shifting his attention away from the evening clouds and staring at Stan over his sunglasses.

Finally, Stan stepped forward until his chest bumped against Wally's. Though they were the same age, he towered over Wally's skinny form, but Wally didn't budge, glaring firmly back up at him.

Stan jabbed him in the shoulder with one finger, his eyes narrowing. Wally puffed up.

"You're on," Stan ground out at last, and Wally straightened his back, grinning wickedly.

"I hope you like losing, Rogers," he said.

Stan stepped back, his eyebrows tight with loathing.

"I hate it," he snarled back.

With that, he stormed away, beckoning his friends to follow him. They all glared suspiciously at Wally and Dick, and Dick waved cheerfully at them as they shuffled out to the street.

The street lamps flickered on, yellow disks of light on the pavement.

"Well, that was sufficiently terrifying," Dick declared cheerily, clapping Wally on the back. "And you, my friend, are completely insane."

"Me? Please," Wally scoffed. "Beating them'll be a breeze."

"Mmhmm," Dick hummed indifferently, his lips pursed. "And how do you propose to do that with only two players?"

Wally froze.

"I hadn't considered that," he said blankly. Dick patted his shoulder pityingly.

"I thought not," he sighed, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his pants and gazing up at the emerging stars. "Would it be jumping the gun to say we're doomed?"

"Before you jump it," Wally replied, "give it to me so I can shoot myself."

"So yes," Wally finished, folding his hands and resting them on the counter. "I may or may not need your assistance."

"No," Roy grunted immediately, folding his arms. Wally's face fell comically.

"Why not?!" he demanded, throwing his hands in the air and garnering several stares that Roy didn't have the energy to meet with a glower.

"Gee, Wally," Roy replied with snide astonishment, "Maybe because I've got better things to do with my time than play baseball with the Little Justice League!"

"Not that that wasn't a hysterical pun," Wally interjected, looking crestfallen, "but are you saying you've got better things to do with your time than play baseball with your friends?"

Roy groaned, smacking his hand to his forehead.

"You and Robin," he grunted monotonously. "And Kaldur. Along with, what, twenty other total strangers? Sounds thrilling."

"Not twenty," Wally protested lamely. "More like..." He frowned and lifted his hand, ticking off players on his fingers. "Five. And Black Canary, if she's willing to be umpire."

"Doubtful." Roy folded his arms and directed his attention to the clock, not in the mood to be met with Wally's pitiful expression any longer. "Exactly how many innocent people are you trying to rope into this?"

"Roy," Wally said solemnly, and Roy dared to glance over at him. His demeanor had darkened considerably. "If you do not help me, I'll tell Green Arrow that you still keep his autograph framed by your bed."

Roy stiffened, his mind scrambling for an adequate retort. He hadn't the faintest idea how Wally had found out about that, but it wouldn't do wonders for his dignity if Green Arrow heard about it.

"You wouldn't dare," he snarled lowly, leaning forward with his fist raised. Wally threw his hands up, feigning innocence.

"I dunno, maybe I would," he mused lightly. "And, y'know. Super speed. So I doubt you'd have time to get rid of it before I broke the news to G.A."

"You little weasel!" Roy bellowed, lunging forward. Wally yelped and leaped out of the way, sprinting out the glass doors as Roy pursued him doggedly, garnering another wave of perplexed stares from the customers. "I'll get you for this!"

"Is that a yes?!" Wally called over his shoulder, beaming.

Roy finally caught him by the collar and dragged him back down the street, fuming, ignoring his flailing and yelling – when the zeta tubes dropped them off in Happy Harbor, Roy considered it a good enough sign that indeed, it was a yes.