Wally West

"Mary, I'm missing two six packs of Coors," Dad says, announcing his entrance into the living room. He stands like a guard, arms folded, eyes on my mom and I on the couch. Me watching an old episode of 'Fringe' with my face in a bag of Ruffles and Mom reading her crime/romance novel, her feet up on the coffee table.

Upon realizing that the missing beer is my doing, I drop the chips and make a mad scramble for the next room.

Mom looks up from her book. "I didn't take them," she responds, turning the page.

Both of them look to me as I reach the doorway, stopping my escape attempt.

"What?" I ask innocently, just grasping that fleeing pretty much proves my guiltiness. I almost made it.

Mom gives me her harsh, yet loving, look that says 'fess up, little punk'.

I snort, scrambling to come up with an excuse. Spitting out the first thing I think of, I tell them, "I blame the aliens. Those darn aliens and their alcohol."

My cell phone rings, playing 'The Big Bang Theory' theme song. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Recognizing my other snafu: abandoning the bag of chips on the couch; I retrieve them. I hold my ringing phone up and dubiously back out of the room, saying, "Sorry, lovely parents, but I have to take this. It may or may not involve saving the world."

Safely around the corner and blocked from my parent's glares, the screen declares 'Dick' as the caller. I answer, "Hey," as I grab a handful of chips.

"Hey. Bruce and I are taking a long weekend out at the beach house and he said I could bring a friend. So guess what. You're coming with me to the beach house this weekend."

Because I instantly burst with excitement at the idea of chilling at a beach house, I act cool. Which means I pretend not to be excited at all. I comment, "Aw, gee, is it really okay to leave Gotham undefended for so long? I mean, how will Batman keep up his regime of terror if he takes the weekend off?"

Without a second's thought, Rob counters, "Green Arrow can city-sit for us."

I picture the archer suddenly wearing black leather instead of the usual green, driving around in the batmobile and Speedy, in the passenger seat, shooting bat-arrows at muggers.

"Really?" I ask, amused by the thought, licking the salt off my fingers.

"No, but crime is down. We can leave for a few days," Rob states. "And it's not like Batman ever catches 100% of the criminals anyway."

"That's kind of morose," I criticize, shoving my face full.

"Do you want to come to the beach or not?"

"Yes," I admit. I bet the beach house has it's own Batcave. Then I just remember to ask, "Do I need to bring anything?" Sleeping bag? Toothbrush? Floaties?

There's a pause where I wonder if I said something wrong before Rob points out,"It's Bruce Wayne."

I chuckle. "I guess not then."

"We'll pick you up Friday night," Rob finishes, hanging up. No, pick me up now! Save me from my wrathful parents.


After my parents discovered that I did not, in fact, need to save the world and that there was nothing left of those eight beers, I offer that at least I didn't get drunk. Apparently that was not the correct answer because I was tasked with cleaning the entire house top to bottom and even that weird closet that we never use. Mopping, scrubbing, dusting, sweeping, and some wood polishing. It took a long time because they constantly checked up on me to make sure I cleaned at a "normal" pace.

Unluckily, that made Friday night come really slow. Luckily, that made me even more ecstatic when the gray Bentley pulled up outside my house.

Giving Mom a brief squeeze, I have my hand on the door knob when she asks, "Didn't you pack anything?"

Oh, yeah.

Zooming upstairs, I gather a backpack of only the essentials (shorts, t-shirt).

I give Dad a salute, who just lifts up a hand in a wave before I burst out the door, switching to a totally cool casual walk, and slide into the back seat next to Rob.

Rob's first comment is about how we're not actually going to go swimming tonight and why am I wearing my swim trunks? I shrug, replying that at least I'm wearing a t-shirt.


In the super soft king-sized bed, I slept in my swim trunks. I've committed to never taking them off as long as I'm here. Convincing Rob to put his on this morning, I was in the process of dragging him out to the beach when Bruce calls us to a table of food. I get lost in the amazing quantity of the bacon, eggs, sausage, and pancakes and I think I cry from joy.

Once you understand that Bruce Wayne's Batman, seeing him all casual-like is even weirder. Sipping coffee, reading a newspaper. Batman. It doesn't compute.

I've just finished my last pancake, full for the moment (kudos to Bruce), so I take in the atmosphere of the place. Everything smells airy and fresh, probably from the ocean. All the windows seem to be open, and the wind blows in the humid air from outside, only to be overtaken by the AC. Well, when you're Bruce Wayne, a little extra on the electric bill is no biggie.

The whole place seems similar to Wayne Manor, which makes sense, but everything is lighter somehow. From the curtains to the wood. Also like the mansion, ancient artifacts are displayed throughout, except here everything is water-themed. The wheel of a ship, paintings, a trident (maybe Aquaman's?). I wouldn't be surprised if some stuff is from the wreckage of the Titanic.

Here in the dining room, Bruce, dressed less like Batman and more like a businessman, sits on one end of the long glass dining table with Rob and I on the other. Mountains of food are piled in between. Bruce's side is also home to a spread-out newspaper, which he investigates as he drinks his coffee. My plate is licked clean, but Rob's still working on a sausage.

Probably seeing that I've finished, Rob inquires,"So can you actually run on water?" He's cutting up a sausage into little bits, which is bothering me way more than it should. Just eat the thing!

Bruce looks up from his domain at the head of the table, seemingly as interested as Rob. The sudden curiosity is almost unsettling.

"Um," I consider, scratching my head. I don't think I've been to a secluded beach to actually try something like that since the accident. "I've never tried it," I confess. But why couldn't I? "I guess?"

Bruce takes a sip of coffee, wisely imparting, "In terms of simple physics, I don't see why it wouldn't work."

Physics, huh? That makes me grin. Kicking Rob underneath the table, I whisper, "Mr. Shoger."

"Seriously?" Rob rolls his eyes back at me.

"You've never tried it?" Bruce inquires.

Is that a challenge? Are you saying I should? Because I will.

"Let's try!" I announce, gesturing for Rob to come. I dart out the back double doors, their white curtains flying back.

Bruce shouts something to me in response, but I'm off the deck, not caring because the ocean's right in front of me. My feet hit the sand, spraying up behind me. The light blue sky meets the dark blue water and I rush out to meet it. As I speed towards the water, I scan up and down the beach, seeing no other houses or buildings or people or anything. I slow down before reaching the water to wait for Rob, wiggling my toes in the gentle sand.

After forever, I consider trying without him when he finally emerges from the house, wearing his shades with an added strap keeping them on his head. I search the windows for any spying batmen.

"Good job getting rid of any witnesses," I greet Rob as he sprints down the beach to join me.

Rob smiles. "Bruce wouldn't laugh."

I try to imagine Bruce laughing and I can't, so I believe him. I shoot him a doubtful look before looking down at the crumbled shells in the sand, retorting, "But he would silently judge me." From the windows. I look over the windows of the house again for a shadowed figure.

"Okay, maybe," he admits. But then he gets that challenging look in his eye. "But I will too."

He's looking forward to me failing, but unlike Bruce, I can picture him laughing.

"Thanks, friend," I reply sarcastically.

He adds, "Only if you trip."

"Thanks," I repeat, reining in my concentration. Great, he's jinxed it. I'm so going to trip now. I figure that if I just stay going fast enough…

I take off going straight out, my bare feet leaving the soft sand and hitting the not-solid water. It's a weird sensation, it almost tickles. Pushing off the water before I have a chance to sink into it.

"Dude!" Rob shouts approvingly.

"It's working! I'm doing the thing! Rob, look! I'm-" And as soon as I turn around to face the beach, I must have paused, because I instantly sink with a sploosh.

As I break the surface, treading water, Rob cackles from shore. I cough up some salt water. Wiping the water from my eyes, I instantly regret not bringing my goggles. They would be perfect for this. I try getting back up, but the water prevents me from doing so, just creating waves. As I stroke back, Rob shouts, "You made it, like, twenty yards. That's got to count for something."

Crawling up onto the shore, I drag myself to his feet, feigning exhaustion. "Yeah, okay," I gasp. "But I think I have to start from the edge."

"I guess. Try again?" he suggests, unfazed by my demeanor.

This kid needs to do something. He needs to be having as much fun as I am.

A grin grows on my face as I offer, "Do you want to try?" I roll onto my back, looking up at him.

"You do realize I'm a normal human being, right?" His face looks confused.

My mind produces a lovely image of Rob waving his arms in the air, sprinting into the water and sinking like a rock, continuing until he's fully submerged.

I spring to my feet, making stirrups with my hands. I clarify, "No, like, you want to come with me?"

Rob makes the sign of the cross. "If I end up at the bottom of the ocean, I'm blaming you." But he hops on my back without second thought.

"Wimp," I scoff. "It can't be that much worse than road burn, right?"

With his arms wrapped around my neck, I hardly have to hold him on because he clings to my back like a baby koala. I guess I won't have to worry about him falling off. To freak him out, I take off running without warning and hit the water. Rob tightens his grip. I trip, forgetting to account for the extra weight and overall imbalance. Rob holds me under a little too long, so when I emerge I spit water at him. He wrinkles his nose.

Second time is pretty much the same except I wipe-out at a weird angle, so Rob goes flying over my head and actually skips like a stone once before splashing in. I make fun of him and suggest that we try to get three skips next time.

My victory comes at Rob's halting third try. He probably just doesn't want to be skipped like a stone again, but once we get going, I manage to keep going. The trick comes with focusing on a point on the horizon and less on my feet. As long as I don't slow down, I think I'll be okay. I get fancy with some tight corners and skimming over some fun waves. I feel like a jet ski. At this point, we're both whooping and laughing. Rob points out a ship and then shouts to me over the sound of the wind and the water something like, 'there are boat tours of the mansions along the shore'. When I catch a glimpse of the shore again, I see that we're a pretty good ways out. If I trip now we'd have to swim a long way. Logically, I head out even farther.

"Whoa, slow down," Rob yells into my ear over the rushing air.

I reply with a smirk, "I don't think you want me to do that."

"Fine," Rob allows. "Just look over there."

I almost have to ask where, but then that I notice it. And then I can't believe I missed it. To clarify, I ask,"Was that the boat you saw a few minutes ago?"

Further up the coastline, the boat billows out a smoke cloud. That can only mean bad things.

"Yeah," Rob confirms sorely.

Here's the moment. I know it really well. It's the time I have to decide if I'm going to act. It has nothing to do with Rob being here. He doesn't change anything. It has nothing to do with being Kid Flash; I could easily ignore this. It's the moment before you get into a situation and there's no going back. But my answer is always, 'Heck yeah, let's do this.' I tend to move in favor of changing it, reversing the damage. And I can't decide if that's good or bad.

"I bet I can get over there in less than two minutes," I claim eagerly.

"No way." Shun the nonbeliever. Time to prove him wrong.


We both splash in once we reach the boat. It's not graceful at all; I belly-flop somehow. I don't get the chance to see Rob's reaction because I can't ignore the sounds coming from up on deck.

Looking up the metal side of this two-level ship, screams drift down to us, along with shouts. Running on the deck. Fire blazing, creaking, crashing. Some sort of alarm blaring through a horn. Worst of all, gunshots. Quick, staccato explosions in spurts. A lump forms in my throat. Locating a bar sticking out on the side, I have one hand and a foot on the ladder when Rob grabs my shirt and tugs me back down.

The voice of reason, Rob inquires, "Hold up a sec, you don't have a mask. What are you planning to do?"

I'm surprised that he's concerned about me right now when obviously someone has to do something! Is he really going to suggest I stay hidden? I anxiously grasp the rung, unable to tear my gaze from the edge of the railing above us.

I respond in haste,"Go up there and kick butt?"

"And what if people have cameras?" he points out, steadily treading the water.

This actually causes me to stop and think. Barry's speeches about keeping the idea that Wally West equals Kid Flash a secret comes to mind. He actually talks about that a lot. 'Not only does wearing goggles protect your identity, but it makes you slightly more invincible in the eyes of everyone else. Don't ask me why, it just does. They don't know who you could be and that makes you that more of a threat.'

A picture could prove Wally West equals Kid Flash. A picture could ruin my life. A picture could murder my parents, fail me out of high school, burn down my house, and even kill me.

This is easily more important than my identity.

"Uh," I try. "I'll go super fast?"

When I hear the gun go off a couple more times, I hopefully portray a face that conveys everything I've been thinking to Rob. His face is filled with concern, but I can't tell if it's for me or for the passengers. It better be the passengers.

"Okay. Fine. Just get up there."

I get up there. I scramble up that ladder like the Flash, not thinking of possible consequences.

A woman's voice shouts above the chaos. I hear her before I see her. "Ever heard of 'Annie Get Your Gun'? Well, Annie's got her gun. Time to shoot!"

Then I see her. She doesn't look much like a 'her'. Her short haircut is stuffed underneath a fedora and she's wearing a men's suit, complete with a red tie. And this crazy chick has a machine gun. She waves it above her head before firing another burst at the wall of an above-deck cabin, narrowly missing someone trying to hide behind it. When she takes a second to adjust her hat, it comes across like she's not really trying to accomplish anything, which is the scary part.

The rest of the deck is in ruins complete with smoke billowing from a previous explosion.

Apparently having spotted me, she lets off a burst in my direction with an arrogant smirk. I duck into a roll behind a deckchair, hoping it's enough for cover.

"It's like one of those shooting arcade games!" she calls to me. "Come out and I promise to miss a couple of times before you die!"

I see, she thinks this is fun.

I shift anxiously, trying to recall what I'm supposed to do for armed gunmen. Disarm them? Rob then finally heaves himself over the railing.

"What took you so long?" I ask, motioning him to come towards me.

He takes the hint and dives for cover behind the same chair. "Shut up."

Realizing I don't have to do this by myself, I question, "Any brilliant plans, gadget boy?"

He gestures toward his non-existent utility belt. "Zilch, Simon Peter."

Crazy chick's voice echoes over to us, "This only works when I have someone to shoot at! I only have so much patience!" I press harder against the chair. We're running out of time.

"Can't we do something about the civilians over there?" I suggest, trying to peek around the chair to see them. "As long as she's got that gun, they're pinned."

Rob seems to take my suggestion into account, but he's deep in thought, obviously devising a plan. His eyes light up behind his shades when he looks to me to ask, "Are you faster than a bullet?"

The Flash is. "Um," I reply shyly.

He gets a worried look on his face again. "Right. Okay." He quickly tries to hide it. "You go over there and try to screen them as best you can from the cabin to the lifeboats. Use tables as shields."

"What about you?"

Rob displays his classic arrogant grin and lifts up a fire extinguisher. I do a double take. Where did that come from? He nods to its spot on the wall behind me. "I'm going to try and get rid of that gun."

It's now or never. I leap over Rob, taking off across the deck in a high speed zig zag. In order to cause more distraction for Rob than what is probably necessary, I knock over several of the tables and chairs on the deck. With the deck littered with debris, crazy chick spins in a circle in attempt to track me with her gun.

We probably look really silly, the two of us. Not only are we in swim trunks and t-shirts, but without our costumes, it feels like we're only pretending to know what we're doing.

When I see that Rob manages to stealthily sneak up behind her and swing the fire extinguisher, knocking the machine gun out of her hand, I move to hastily build a sort of barricade of deck furniture. I direct the boating tourists to hide behind it on their way to the lifeboats. Sure that they can get themselves away safely, I turn back to the action...

Where the crazy chick has a pistol pointed at Rob's head. He's on the ground, sitting up, looking into the barrel of the gun, clutching his fire extinguisher. "Ugh! Really?" she complains, pulling the hammer back, crouching down to get close to Rob's face before saying with a fake rasp, "I don't have time for heroes today. Don't try to be a hero."

No.

Rob.

"Too late for that!" I shout, setting off towards Rob. But Crazy Chick reaches into her jacket pocket, aiming another pistol at me. I freeze in place.

The corners of her mouth turns up and she tilts the gun in emphasis to each word she hurls, "Red hair, super speed? You must be Kid Flash. Where's the flashy costume?"

She sees my face. This has to be all or nothing now. If she gets away after this...

Switching her attention down the sights of the opposite pistol, she nudges Rob with her foot, taunting,"That makes you Robin, doesn't it? I'm guessing."

"Lady, you're completely out of your league here," I say, trying to intimidate. When I take a step forward, she inhales a breath, mouth open, causing me to hesitate in confusion. Since when do I hesitate?

That inhale turns into her threatening, "Don't make any moves, or I'll fire both pistols at the same time." I'm about to challenge that when she adds, "While I might miss you, I'll definitely hit your friend here."

Rob finally speaks up, no trembling at all in his voice, more smug that I expected, confronting her with, "Are you sure?" I'm jealous of his confidence.

Crazy Chick turns her head back to Rob, "Want me to prove it?"

I can't be wait anymore. I dash forward during her momentary distraction. Rob takes the same moment to take another swing with the extinguisher at the backs of her knees and

twisted, she's falling

BOOM

the pistol towards me goes off

bullet's too fast

trailing off above my head

too high

that's a miss, crazy chick

BOOM

the pistol towards Rob goes off

no no no

Rob

no

Are you faster than a bullet?

no, Dick

I'll try to be

nothing's moving

but me and

the bullet

I'm too slow

the bullet

Dick

no

almost there

Dick

few more steps

too slow

bullet's too fast

slide onto knees

ramming into Dick

bullet's too fast

Dick

dodge a bullet, Wally

dodge a stupid bullet

watch it

nick my left arm

crazy chick falls to her knees

Sliding into Rob causes me to slip out of the speed-thinking and into an intense stinging.

Rob grunts from the impact.

"Augh. Ow!" I protest. But with crazy chick finally off guard, I disarm her, taking both pistols from her hands, and carelessly tossing them over the railing. "Now what?" I gasp, suddenly unable to prevent my hand from clutching my arm where I think I got shot.

"I pull out another gun," the crazy chick smirks, holding a small revolver. She manages to skillfully keep it trained on both of us as she stands and backs away. "You're not faster than my trigger finger, so don't even try it. And…" She waits a moment before shouting, "BOOM!"

Across the deck, a detonation resonates. I assume that it's something below deck, but when I look back to where she was, she gone. I take a lap around the deck and report that we're the last ones aboard. There's nothing more to do here.

"You got shot?" Rob asks incredulously.

"No, I don't-" I twist to inspect it under my hand. The hand I pull away is already sticky with the red bodily fluid and I have the urge to wipe it on my pants. Wow, that's a lot of blood. Feeling slightly nauseous, I clutch it again, stammering out a response, "Oh, h-hey, look at that. It doesn't hurt or anything. That much. 'Tis a flesh wound."

But Rob pulls off his blue t-shirt and rips it. All business-like, he turns me around, lifting up my arm to tightly wrap it. I finally drop my right hand from holding my arm.

"Let's go," Rob insists.

Maybe a little too enthusiastic for the situation, I reply, "Right-o!"

"Can you still carry me?"

"As long as you don't touch it," I offer, making stirrups with my hands.


I successfully freak out Rob (there was much protesting) by jumping over the railing with him on my back. In my mind, I had already calculated the angle I need to hit the water at in order to continue running. I've launched myself from the deck of the ship at a close guess to the correct speed. A bit of me kicking my legs at the air and I smoothly hit the water. Once we're off, I look behind me to Rob, his eyes wide under his shades. The whole way back, I clench my teeth in effort to ignore the pain in my arm and try to think of the tan line Rob's going to have from those shades. He's going to look like a raccoon.

After skimming along the coastline, I finally spot the Wayne's beach house. Not wanting to get wet again, I continue running up onto the beach until we reach the back door, where I let him down. Rob, still in all-business mode, points to the loveseat on the back porch. "Stay," he demands, disappearing into the house.

I obediently comply, settling myself into the rattan loveseat. Pulling one of the green-striped pillows onto my lap, I make a fist, punching it a couple of times, aware that I'm grunting with each hit. I'm sick of this kid having to take care of me. Seeing that all my muscles are now tense, there's no denying that it hurts. I squeeze the pillow, clutching it like a lifeline, strangling it like a rag.

I'm able to take a deep breath when Rob's back out with a first aid kit.

"I really hope this doesn't need stitches," Rob admits, sitting beside me on the armrest and flipping open the box on his lap.

Focusing on breathing normally, I ask in surprise, "Do you know how to do stitches?"

"I mean," he pauses, maybe realizing that he's not supposed to be scaring me by threatening to do needlework on my skin."I understand the theory, but I've never actually done it."

I gulp, repeating his words, "...I hope this doesn't need stitches."

"I'm going to have to pull your shirt up to look at it, okay?" I'm about to make a joke, but decide against it and willingly pull up my sleeve, wincing, letting Rob work. "I need you to hold the tourniquet in place."

I do that. "Is it going to hurt?"

Rob has a bit of fabric that he wets with some antibacterial stuff. "No, not at all." Holding his makeshift t-shirt wrap higher up on my arm, he presses the wet cloth on the bloody mess.

"Oh, ok-," I start and then it stings like crazy. Splitting aching. Tensing up, I scream curses at him, mostly just calling him a liar.

"Relaaax," Rob soothes, still weirdly calm.

"It hurts!" I stress, enunciating excessively and clenching my teeth.

"I'm making it stop hurting," he explains, not even flinching.

"No! You're not!" I stress, trying to make him understand.

"Just shush for a minute, okay?"

I stiffen myself enough so that all that emerges is a high-pitched whine.

"It's not actually as deep as I thought," Rob says carefully, putting his hands down. "I think you'll be okay. But we can go to the hospital, if you want?"

Hospitals are bad. Not only do they have to report all gunshot wounds, but they don't know what to do with a guy like me. "Nah, I heal fast," I clamber. "Just make it stop hurting."

"We have some painkillers," Rob provides. "In the meantime I'm just going to bandage this up nice and tight, okay?"

"'Kay."

While he's wrapping the bandages, my mind drifts off, out to the waves. I can see the waves reach as far as they can up onto the beach before falling back down. The consistent, rhythmic sound is relieving, I change my breathing to match it, letting it calm me.

Where did that good time go? It was only an hour ago that I was teasing Rob and dumping him in the ocean.

"Hey, um," Rob coughs. "Thanks."

I should be thanking him; he's the one slaving over my injury.

"Thanks for what?" I ask honestly.

"You knocked me out of the way," he says, concentrating on his work, unable to look at me. "So I'm thankful."

He thinks this is his fault, doesn't he?

I grunt when he pulls the wrapping tight. "Hey," I let out with a sigh, smiling softly. "What are friends for?"

When Rob offers me a couple painkiller pills, I toss them in my mouth. He asks, "Do you know the psycho gunslinger?"

The crazy chick didn't seem familiar. I'm sure she would've suggested if she knew me when she puzzled out my identity. Pushing thoughts of my mistake away, I convince myself that she wouldn't remember long enough to do anything with it. Do I remember her face? Not really. I'll be fine.

"No. I thought she looked more like one of your guys," I suggest. "i.e. homicidal maniacs who recently escaped from an insane asylum." For example, Joker, Harley Quinn, Zsasz, Riddler, Two-Face, Scarecrow… All psychos. The list goes on and on.

"I've never seen her," he says.

"Huh," I sigh, starting to feel kind of better. The pain in my arm's gradually going away.

Weird

that hurt more a second ago

it works!

there was

Something in his voice

like… oh, whatever...

What was I worried about? Rob seemed unsure? He hasn't seen her before.

Then I hear the front door open and Rob springs up. Heh, sounds like Bruce had come back early.

"Oh, no," Rob breaths.

I don't see what the big deal is. It's just Batman; he's definitely used to seeing blood. Bruce peeks around the corner, like he senses we're there on the back porch.

"I believe I forgot my brief…," He trails off when he takes in the scene. Me, on the couch, probably looking terrible, blood spurting from my arm; and Rob, with the first aid kit in his hands, probably looking like a deer in headlights. Bruce zeroes in on Rob. "Dick, care to explain?"

"I would love to," Rob replies.

Bruce, however, keeps going, "I've barely been gone a half-hour and suddenly Wally is bleeding out on the back porch?" He crouches down next to me, inspecting Rob's work. It's only been a half-hour? It's got to be longer than that.

"But on the plus side," Rob offers. "The fridge is still full." I wonder what a full fridge has to do with anything. Not important.

Bruce pokes my arm.

"Ow?" I insist.

"Apologies. Gunshot wound at close range?"

"Yessir," Rob answers for me.

"By whom?"

"We don't know. Crazy chick with a gun."

My input to this conversation is: "But I can walk on water!"

Bruce continues, "We'd better get you to a professional doctor."

Letting my head tilt to the side, I shrug and murmur, "We c'ld jus' go to The Flash?"

He'll be able to deal with me better than any doctor. These guys are crazy to keep suggesting a hospital.

"Very good. I'll have the car brought around."


Pretty much as soon as we get in the car, the drugs wear off. I refuse to say anything. For the rest of the ride, I'm back to clutching it.

The driver pulls the Bentley up outside of Barry's house.

I get escorted by Bruce to the front door. It occurs to me that I haven't told Barry that Bruce is Batman and here I am casually outing Barry as the Flash to Batman. But I think he already knows.

"Bruce Wayne's Batman and Barry Allen's The Flash," I blurt out when Barry opens the door, hoping to get rid of any awkwardness and confusion. I fail. Both men shoot me an odd look.

"Hello, Wally," Barry greets, oblivious to my injury.

"Hey, Barry," I greet him and then explain, "I got shot."

Wide-eyed, Barry unwraps it to take a look as Bruce explains that he wasn't around when this happened and then leaves me.

Barry displays his 'oh, now this makes sense' face and says with a sigh, "Not again."

I guess I do end up bleeding a lot.