a/n: Ah. Yes. I cast Wally in a less than stellar light last chapter. Now to make amends. Or a close facsimile.

Also, I've developed an enthusiasm for Flash Ducky...which feels kind of hypocritical. I know he's borderline oc despite being inanimate and if you ever read my profiles you know I loathe oc's, but the little silicon dude has waddled...eh...floated into my heart. I just get a giggle over that thing being Comedic!DCAU Wally's sidekick. DC seriously needs to start manufacturing League rubber duckys.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of value. I'd claim the coffee shop name, but they might sue me over that too.

IMPORTANT: CHAPTER 7 GOT ERASED AND SUPPLANTED BY A DUPLICATION OF 8. If you got lost at events in 9, 10, and 11 that is why. It's been fixed.

Kinetics 12: The Massacre

.

The paper printout crinkled a bit in Batman's fist as he clutched it, unhappy with it's growing length. Worse than the sheer number of names was what they consisted of. Also...

Oracle was a godsend when it came to computerized data investigation, but surely...

"So...this was the best you could come up with?" He didn't look impressed; didn't even attempt to do so. It wasn't that most of the names on the paper weren't likely; actually, it was pretty much an even call on which might prove correct given West's less than sophisticated nature. Just the same, that top one? Surely that was a bit far-fetched?

The digital image of Oracle somehow managed to look a bit put out. "He's the fastest man alive. Even if I could accurately predict where he might be hiding at this very minute, the next second he could be in the next hemisphere."

Well, she did have a point.

Both corners of the Dark Knight's mouth tightened a bit more. He'd hoped to get this over with quickly before any of the League caught wind of what had happened at the mansion and started breathing up the back of his cowl. Stewart and Hol would certainly make nuisances of themselves. Superman, especially, would be sure to make himself at home at Bruce's doorstep -colorful cape as aflutter as its owner over Bruce's having mistreated their increasingly underfoot mascot. Never mind that so-called good-luck charm had been getting into loads of hot water of late. No, that supposedly undeniable fact would be gone like yesterday's refuse. Little Red Running Flash would become the poor, abused victim of The Big, Bad Bat and it would suddenly be 'open season' on Bruce in the eyes of his compatriots.

"Fine."

"I put them in order of descending 'most promising' avenues given his profile," Oracle continued, choosing to ignore his surly attitude. (From what she'd seen via a quick scan of the gossip column early drafts, the charity gala had not gone down very well. "Disturbing", "unfortunate," and "memorable" were not words you wanted to see on discussions over a high-society gig. Most definitely not when used in the same sentence.) "However, again...he's not only the fastest, but-"

"Also the most unpredictable of the non-incarcerated, partially-insane portions of humanity. Yes. I am aware."

Gods, was he aware.

"I bet you are." Oracle's voice held a touch of amusement. Bruce might be too much of a tightwad when it came to personal information release, but Nightwing generally let 'inconsequential' things slip here and there. As such both Bat Kids had long ago figured out that the main reason Bruce never felt comfortable around Flash was that Wally's responses weren't easy to anticipate during 'wild card' situations. (Sure, he'd usually do A if the situation called for B, or C if B, but if it was a pure W-class event Flash might well react with some number that resembled a pi equation being flipped off it's platter.) "Still, the first one is the most likely considering everything you and certain parties have told me. Plus...as I've noted...one of your old 'acquaintances' has been said to be seen in the vicinity. Given random chance vs Flash, I'd go for that one option."

"Agreed." It would be just like Flash to garner some evil doer's attention without even trying to. Heaven help those with less than Superman's stamina when Flash aimed for people's attention on purpose.

Oracle paused, debating with herself whether she would be better off leaving well enough alone. Yet, Dick...Dick was worried for the speedster. It was obvious even in just the acrobat's voice that he feared for West's safety seeing as the man was very likely in a very fragile mental state. There was no way Wally would have left the manor like he did unless he had some grand idea to fix matters planted in his head. That was the scary thing...it usually was only was a 'good' reason from Wally's p.o.v. "I don't understand why you won't let Nightwing go undercover on this. He's-"

"Otherwise occupied," Batman curtly ended their communique. Bruce removed thoughtfully removed his cowl in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. In truth, he had yet to check up on Dick. Probably off pouting in Blüdhaven. Yes, Richard would likely go after the MIA Flash even after what happened...if he knew. Batman wasn't too anxious to tell him. Nor was he keen on letting Alfred near either of his protégés until Pennyworth swore on a stack of The Queen's biographies that he'd keep any Young Batman stories to himself. Unfortunately, Tim...

"Hey, Oracle, Bruce..." Tim hopped in and snatched the list out of his mentor's hands, "Looking for Wally? I'm betting he's..." The Boy Wonder's eyes bugged out a little as they roved down the paper. He whistled. "Man, this is one long list. Looks like every fast food place and amusement park on the planet is on this thing." This earned Babs a thumbs up of approval. "Oracle, you sure knows your stuff."

...Tim was the current model of Robin and could be just as pigheaded at times as Richard ever was. Bruce let the image of a swine-headed song birds exit right out of his mind. Flights of fancy were not germane to the situation at hand.

Naturally, now he couldn't get the image out of his head.

Even when he wasn't around, Wally was corrupting his thought processes.

"Thank you, Robin." Oracle smiled. "Call me if you need anything more." Oracle signed off.

Alfred was the second to make a silent appearance, bearing a sliver tray with two covered dishes. "An unduly late-hour snack, sirs? Would you care for a sandwich, Master Timothy. I even trimmed off the crust...just the way you like it."

"Thanks, Alfred." Grabbing a sandwich, a beaming Tim tapped the upper most name on Oracle's list. "So I'm thinking our best shot will be this one: The MASS*ACRE: 'A day of devotion held on the sacred acreage of God's Country'. It seems pretty obscure, while the prize is of a nice size...not so small it's not worth the risk of exposure...not so big it would attract undue attention to the winner."

Bruce made to reach for the silver tray, only to have Alfred nimbly maneuver the food out of his reach. So Alfred was still angry at him? He sighed and, instead, snatched back Oracle's list. The detective had also figured Wally would join a race. Flash couldn't resist racing something when he was wallowing in self pity. That or stuffing his face. But West was broke and hadn't been seen at the Watchtower. Besides, its cafeteria was still fully stocked so Flash hadn't gone there. "There are other ones he could participate in."

"Prize money is $25,000," Alfred sniffed. "Nothing to you, but to someone like Wallace, that's is a hefty enough sum."

"Enough for a month's worth of food with that metabolism of his," Tim put in, giving Bruce the evil eye.

"And the man did miss his last regular meal," Alfred chimed in with an unhappy stare at his grown-up ward.

Bruce glared right back. "Exactly. He's a meta. For the sake of fairness, he shouldn't be allowed to take part in any race." Unnecessary public appearances were dangerous. Ones done for the purpose of monetary gain were immoral as well. 'Barry would have never stooped so low.'

"Sir, with all due respect you are being unfair. Mr. Allen was already a matured man with an adequate income when he became metabolically enriched while Mr. West was a child when it happened to him. He needed more nutrients even before gaining his speed. Undoubtedly this is why he needs to eat more now."

"That doesn't change the fact that these races are meant for normal humans."

"Are you kidding?" Tim scowled at Bruce's implication that Wally would use nefarious means to win a competition. "Look, Bruce, its not like he can really cheat on that one even if he wanted to. Flash stands as much a chance of winning or losing as any of them." The Boy Wonder crossed his arms. "You're just mad because he's making you feel guilty about intimidating him to the point of running away. Not seeing this objectively is making you miss things."

Blue eyes fixed on Tim, pinning him like daggers. 'How dare he?'

"I am not feeling guilty."

"No? You'd forbid Nightwing or me to go search for him even though we're less likely to scare the pants off of him by simply breathing and send him skittering off again. On the other hand, you don't want to go yourself because you don't have a clue on what to say to him that won't come off sounding like The Goddamned Batman Disapproves On Principle. For God's sake, Bruce, let me or Dick handle this."

"Like you two handled him before?"

"C'mon, you never had a project go wrong?"

"I don't leap in where angels fear to tread."

Another round of glares.

"Master Timothy," Alfred interrupted them, "Master Bruce has issues with people who can feel happiness as well as self justification in the simple act of helping another. You are, as they say, beating a dead bat."

"Horse," Bruce corrected. Alfred just gave him a pointed look.

Here he'd been worried about Superman and Green Lantern wanting to nail his cowl ears to the cave wall? "Et tu, Alfred?" Bruce narrowed his eyes at them. "I am not the villain here. West is the one who owes me an apology. He's the one who cowardly slunk away from his responsibilities to you."

"A fact that makes him my problem, Master Wayne," Alfred reminded him.

"He damaged the manor."

"And fixed it as well." Tim smirked. "Looks better than ever."

"He abandoned his duties to the League."

"Wallace was on vacation...sanctioned by Martian Manhunter...and, I might add, by you, sir,as I believe you never actually got around to ending his banishment."

"I didn't?"

Alfred raised both his right eyebrow and the stakes with a firm "No." (Of course, he neglected to mention that J'onn had been responsible for Bruce's amnesia in that regard.)

"Well..." Bruce sputtered in his chagrin, determined to find something to remain legitimately peeved over. Thankfully, a light bulb went off. Not exactly halogen, but... "He did steal property from the manor."

Tim blinked at him. "Oh my god. You're all irate because he took a bath toy?" He watched his mentor grind his teeth before Bruce sneered:

"Don't be ridiculous. It's the principle of the thing."

"Sure."

.

Quietly, Alfred watched the two. Bruce was not going to back down easily. Neither was Tim.

Drake made another appeal to his mentor. "Look, just find and talk with him. Who knows, maybe he doesn't want to impress you anymore and you're off the hook."

'Oh dear.' Wrong tactic, Master Timothy.'

Bruce's glare deepened toward the abyss. "I was never on said hook."

"He looks up to you."

"A perfect arrangement seeing as I look down on him."

"That's rather mean-spirited." Tim dared to point out despite the fact that miniature black holes had somehow replaced Bruce's pupils.

"I. Don't. Care."

Mexican standoff.

Unfortunately for Bruce he'd overlooked the fact that Alfred wasn't even remotely Hispanic...

"You know, Master Timothy," the butler amiably broke in, "I seem to recall a situation such as this one many years back When Master Wayne senior and a very young Master Bruce had a disagreement concerning..."

...no, Alfred was a British manservant with a memory that surpassed Bruce's.

Damn-it.

"Okay, I'll go."

With utter impassivity, Alfred offered Bruce the covered server. "Naturally. Your humble pie, sir?"

With a huff, Bruce replaced his cowl over his head and stormed out towards his Batmobile.

Tim glanced up at Alfred. "Just remember...I'm the innocent kid in all this."

"You wish, Master Timothy. Batman isn't the only one who keeps files on others."

Tim blinked, then let a sly grin spread over his features.

"Speaking of which...what's all this about Kid Batman stories?"

It was cold and windy. Didn't matter. Neither did the hour. The watcher was used to such hardships. There was discomfort; however this was without needing to think about it more than as a cerebral note towards the fact.

What was of importance was the red-head down below. Leather-clad hands adjusted the viewer controls. The watcher need only watch and wait for an opportune moment to strike.

It was too early an hour of the morning to be outside. A bit nippy what with it being winter and all; breezy too, but the dawn sky remained pretty clear and was showing off an array of orange and blue. Picturesque vistas didn't change the fact that it was currently that godforsaken time slot that fell between dark of night and noon. Still, a hero seldom had a choice in such matters when it came to answering challenges. Fate didn't believe in allowing super humans to hit the Snooze button on Life; not when Providence knew dang well that coffee stands was available on every street corner so a drowsy speedster didn't even have the excuse of being too tired to run down to Columbia and pick up some fresh caffeine-laden beans for a Flash-style reboot.

Stupid Providence.

Stupider Star Fawns franchises.

Wally ran his fingers through his wind-blown hair, paced around a bit, scrubbed at his sleep-deprived face, paced around some more. Finally, he felt ready to face the challenge.

"All right, Flash Ducky. There's a lot riding on this race, so...yeah. Performance jitters are a possibility here. I'll admit I'm kind'a nervous about signing the entry form. Not sure Bruce would approve. Heck, I'm pretty sure he'd be mighty disapproving, but...heroes have gotta do what heroes have gotta do."

The course looked pretty easy. Nice flat surface, its wide expanse providing lots of room once they broke out from the other racers.

Wally looked about, eying the eerie stillness of the waiting competition with a critical eye. They were a mean looking bunch: smarmy leers adorned mugs sporting dark wind-resistant goggles...no doubt hiding shifty eyes. Professional types. Quiet too. Like sharks waiting for their prey.

Brave heart..brave heart. They could do this. Piece of cake.

"The competition for the fastest is looking pretty stiff. But even so, I have absolute confidence in the ability of good to prevail at the end. No matter what happens out there, know that I'm always proud of you. Never forget that we are The Flash team. Together we can make this happen."

Blinking back the manly something-decidedly-not-tears that kept obscuring his vision, Wally flung Flash Ducky into the water then started gesticulating wildly. "Go, Flash Ducky! Go! Remember our motto! Speed is life!"

Several of the other participants glanced between the gently rocking rubber duck in the kiddie pool before warily edged away from him. Wally defensively glared at their departing backs, annoyed for the sake of his stationary sidekick. "What? So he's a little new at this. It's only performance jitters. Everyone has them before their first race. Just needs some more practice." They walked away faster, a peeved Wally yelling after them "Cut him some slack!"

Jerks.

That's right, FD! Float! Keep on floating! You are The Duck! A natural! Float like a wood chip! Float! Float!" Beaming, Wally scooped up his ducky and started rubbing him down with a paper napkin he'd nabbed from a hot dog stand. "That's the way. Sure, you're just a rookie now, but just you wait, [insert a Rocky Balboa's coach pep talk here.]"

"Contestants, please make your way to the check point for registering into your chosen event. The races officially commence in one half hour."

Hurriedly picking up Flash Ducky, Wally jogged toward the sign-up stand under the MASS*ACRE banner to await his turn in line, singing his version of a Bootcamp Cadence (with some squeaky accompaniment by Flash Ducky's internal noise maker):

"We're the Flash Team; fastest 'round!
Dum dum da-dum!
Because our bods are aero sound!
Dum dum da-dum!
Come there swirl or rapids foam,
Dum dum da-dum!
The winner's place we'll make our own!

Dum dum da-dum!

Quack out (qwak! qwak!)
Quack in (qwak! qwak-qw-qwaak!)

You think I boast but cannot prove?
Just wait until you see us move!
No need to stand on fate or luck,
'Cause Flash Team's got the swiftest duck!"

Quack out (qwak-quak!)

Quack-"

Some young children in the line running parallel to his giggled at his boastful song and dance. Like the adults around them, they were wearing what Wally had decided upon arriving must be the church group's event uniform as everyone was garbed with the same earthy pattern.

"Whoa! Look, FD, our fan club has already started." The boisterous red-head gave Flash Ducky a gentle squeeze. (Qwak!) "Well, sure we will. Always pays to meet the fans."

Wally happily knelt down to let the kids pet Flash Ducky (whom they all agreed -what with his red and gold paint job and ebony cape- was by far truly the flashiest duck in the competition. Attention on the tykes, Wally let the line move along with him in tow, solemnly explaining all the while that the cape belonged to Flash Ducky's way cool-like sponsor who, unfortunately, couldn't come to watch the race, but would they root for Flash Ducky in his stead because Flash Ducky thrived on a show of support? They promised they would with lots of nods and smiles. Wally thanked them with the most sincere expression in his eyes before the stand attendant coughed and held out a registration sheet and pen. Grabbing the empty form, the more animate half of The Flash Team hurriedly filled it out..then handed it back with a grin: he'd signed it Wallace East with the image of a duck's foot and lightning bolt next to his signature.

"You church people sure do raise some nice kids. Must be all the Sunday School lessons."

The unamused attendant pointed him to where his event's starting point was and where he was to pick up his racing gear.

So far so good.

Watching the scene from the anonymity of the rooftops, a man shook his head, yet couldn't help but chuckle. At least his friend seemed to be in chipper spirits despite what had transpired at Gotham. No matter what happened, Wally's psyche always seemed to eventually float above his troubles. How appropriate, then, his choice in a companion.

Even so, a rubber duck wasn't going to be much of a help in watching his back...which was where another type of slick bird came in anyway.

Feeling a presence behind him, Nightwing instantly whirled, weapons at the ready. Batman casually moved one of them aside.

"Fair reflexes...poor hearing," was his deadpanned assessment of Grayson's performance.

"Fair compliment, poor manners." Dick returned in like manner, putting up his escrima fighting sticks. "Before you start, I have a perfect right to be here."

"Why are you here?"

"Making sure he's okay. I heard this place can get pretty rough." Dick nodded toward the event grounds. "The kiddie race is standard stuff, but the main event? Let's just say a lot of the racers don't survive the course." His eyebrows scrunched together under his mask. "Why are you here?" He glanced at the cloudless horizons. "Not exactly your kind of scene or work shift."

Batman grimaced at the bright sky. "Apprehending a violator of the law."

"Heh...neither sunbeam nor clear skies, nor bright of day shall stay the justice of the Dark Kni-" His old comrade gaped at him. "Hold the Batphone. What?" The acrobatic vigilante raked his hands through his copious dark hair. "Violator? Wait," the lenses on his domino mask widened "you're seriously going to go down there -as Batman- and -in broad daylight I might mention- to demand Wally hand over a rubber duck? Seriously?"

Batman's grimace deepened even further than it had when Tim had broached such a concept. "Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to arrest him. The contraband I'll return to its proper setting afterward."

"Which happens to be your private bath." Nightwing pointed out.

"Not your concern." Batman stepped forward.

An escrima stick barred his path.

"No way. No way am I letting you do that to him."

"You think you can stop me?" the Dark Knight challenged.

"Geez, talk about a cowl that's on too tight. I can't believe your honestly obsessing over a bath toy!" Nightwing felt his exasperation with his sire reach new levels. How did Alfred manage to cope living with the man for so long? "How about this...wait until the race is over. Then I'll go down and talk to him about turning in the duck."

"Not in the game plan."

"Man...and everyone says Flash has issues."

Bruce thought it over. He really did hate being Batman during the daylight hours and fighting with Dick would just prolong that. "If I promise not to maim him, will you stay out of this?"

"Nope."

That's what happened when you tried to compromise with someone.

"Fine."

"Just don't go in leaping before you look."

"I'll endeavor not to upset any innocent parishioners," he bit out.

"Parishioners?"

"The religious people having their fun."

"Huh?" Nightwing blinked at him. "You think this is a church-sponsored event?"

"It's not? I thought by the name that it was affiliated with the Catholic Church? Isn't it the Mass*Acre?"

Nightwing pointed at the main banner. "Batman, see that dark spot between the words?"

"Yes."

"That isn't representing some hyphen...it's a 12-gauge shotgun blast."

"Then..."

He looked down at the people milling around the expansive river bank park grounds. Everyone but one conspicuous red-head in a scarlet pullover and denim jeans was wearing camouflage.

'Oh fuck.'

"Yes, sir, ladies and gents it's a beautiful day out here," sang out the cheerful event announcer. "As a reminder to those with the memory of kumquats, in Event B the kiddies are advised to stay out of the pond and to play fair. Remember, it's only a game until someone gets hurt."

The red head smiled and nodded in agreement, (good sportsmanship was the hallmark of civility.) He felt a nudge from his neighbor and looked to his right.

"Hey, moron...your gear."

Wally accepted the little motorized rubber-ducky sized board with it's miniature harness and multi-button remote control from a tattoo-covered man.

Aw...how cute! The board came with a little harness and everything!

He looked around to offer the other contestants a smile of enthusiasm...and stared bemusedly at the others 'duck wranglers' who were already strapping their bath toys to similar devices.

Some of them were adding what looked like decidedly non-regulation bath fun gear...and...and...um...

War paint and dart guns? Wasn't that being a touch overly dramatic for a simple rubber ducky race?

Suddenly worried, the speedster cast his eyes up...and felt his jaw drop as the voice from the overhead speakers suddenly took a malicious turn.

.

"Now...on the other side of the park the only rules in Event A are...TO STAY AFLOAT LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE YOUR COMPETITOR KISS HIS TAIL FEATHERS GOODBYE! As long-time participants at The Militia Aficionado Society's Silicon Aquatic Combat Race Extravaganza know, rules are for wussies and those in the kiddie 'B' event over at The Beginner's Waddling Pond Race! This here is The 'A' EVENT! That's 'A' as in Agony! 'A' as in Be A-fraid for you 'lil ducky's life! This is the main DUCK DISH where any SITTING DUCKS DIE! That's right, my fellow camouflaged comrades...The next few minutes will decide who gets the MAJOR MOO-lah MONEY and who ends up with chunk-style DUCK SOUP! Good luck out there...suckers! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

Get those ducks in a row before the whistle does blow!"

.

There was no peaceful, placidly still pond in sight festooned with gaily colored plastic cones to mark off the race path.

What was there was a river course devised by Mad Max:

Obstacle mines, radio-controlled gunboats, and what looked like a tin Godzilla with aluminum jaws and claws worthy of Wolverine standing in the middle of the 'track'.

It roared and spouted a stream of fire.

"Flash Ducky...I don't think we're enrolled in The Waddler's Duck Pond Race anymore."