AN: Welp this chapter is part one of two. I hope you like it!

A young girl was kneeling on the floor of the bathroom of her apartment. She was fifteen years old and her shoulders drooped with weariness beneath an old tee shirt worn thin and soft with age. The lights above her flickered, cool and white and dim. A well-worn first aid kit sat open on the toilet beside her. She tugged a cotton ball out of the package and wet it with hydrogen peroxide. Her hands swift and practiced, she used it to clean the wide scrape across his forehead. The muscles in his jaw tensed. Having cleaned the injury to her satisfaction, she slathered it with antibiotic ointment and slapped a Band-Aid on it. Done. She moved on. She knew by now that if she was quick and methodical the process would be easier. Ignoring his pain was the only way to go, at least for the moment. Even so, her fingers trembled just a bit when his hiss of pain met her ears as she worked on the rather nasty gash under his eye.

His eyes. They were an oddly vibrant green, like fresh cut grass in the spring. Usually those eyes were filled to overflowing with joy and mischief, so alight with life. They were dark and cloudy now. They were half-closed, heavy with shame. The sadness manifested in the occasional glitter of tears he'd been trained never to let fall. She knew that that contagious joy in his eyes was faked all too often. He would show up at her apartment, badly bruised, after a day of fun with the team. She couldn't bear to think how it must have felt to roughhouse with the others while hiding the injuries of the previous night.

Some days were worse than others. On the worst days she could barely make herself look at him. He looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it almost felt like she was intruding by looking his way. Today was one of those days.

He had staggered into her apartment without a word as usual. He wouldn't say anything on these occasions. He didn't have to. One look at him and he knew she knew. He had let her guide him into the bathroom and promptly slumped to the floor, with his back propped up against the tub, as if he'd never move again. Looking down at him she thought sadly that he looked less like a superhero or a developing young man than the broken doll of an especially cruel and inventive child. Even with his enhanced healing ability the bruises and scars were tough to hide.

"Your shirt now," she said briskly, hoping her voice didn't waver. He obliged, half-sitting up and lifting his arms helpfully.

Removing the shirt required tearing open the wounds where the blood had already dried. He knew this as well as she did and bit the inside of his cheek. She tried to yank the shirt off in one swift motion, but it got tangled with his elbow and was sort of stuck in the back where the scabs were thicker and he was gasping a bit with each breath and she was ready to cry.

In short, business as usual.

After several long minutes she finally got the damned shirt off and controlled the bleeding. The girl sighed as she worked her way down his toned chest and over his stomach, sanitizing and bandaging, hiding raw red gashes and purpling bruises under clean white gauze. Then his arms too needed to be looked after. His lower arms had taken a vicious beating from when he used them to block the first blows. After a time of course he had given up trying to shield his body, but there it was. She affixed one last piece of gauze to a nick on his shoulder. There. Torso and arms done. Now for his back.

"Lean forward," she said, and climbed into the bathtub.

Apparently his father had brought out the belt again. His back was a thick, bloody mess. When she ran over it with the peroxide his pain was audible and he arched his back. She waited silently for him to settle down again, which he did in a moment. She did not fail to notice that a tear had escaped his eyes and that the muscles in his back were tight to keep from cringing away from her. She wished for the hundredth time that she were less observant. Cleaning and covering the whole of his back took a long, long time.

"Into the tub now."

He climbed in obediently. She turned on the faucet to warm and grabbed a sponge and some soap. He still wouldn't look at her and for once she was grateful. If he looked at her with that dead empty stare she might just drop the sponge and bawl like some useless scared child. She worked the soap to a lather in her hands and, because he was staring at the floor of the tub anyway, began to wash his hair. It was clotted with blood. She rinsed out the soap with gentlest setting on the showerhead and stuck a cotton ball over the gash in his hair. Progress.

"What about here?" she asked, eyeing his shorts with apprehension.

He only shrugged.

And so she did her best. Little by little, with soap and warm water and gentle hands, she cleaned him up. She ran her hands over the scars on his stomach and winced, knowing that he had gotten them a long time ago. Because of his exceptional healing capabilities, fresh wounds did not scar. But the old ones, the ones from his childhood, did not fade any faster than they otherwise would. She carried on. He held his knees above the water to keep the bandages dry and she worked carefully. She cupped his cheek while scrubbing his neck with the sponge, rubbing her thumb over a small scar below his ear. He had been thrown into the wall at age three and gotten a small burn from the radiator. It was his first scar from his father and they both knew it.

She was the only one who knew about this. And no one knew about her playing doctor to him almost three times a week. He didn't even come for her help all the time. It all depended how bad the pain was and whether he thought it might get infected. Lesser wounds would be healed by morning. No one knew how he had received his many scars. He was thankful that his super healing erased the new ones so quickly. She wanted him to tell someone, but she knew he never would.

At least, not without a fight.

"Babs…" she heard him murmur. She was kneeling in shallow and slowly cooling bathwater. She had changed the water twice because of the blood, but this one was finally clear and sweet. He had been sufficiently cleaned and bandaged a long time ago. The bubbles held the very masculine scent of roses. She was tired. The situation was almost comically tragic and there was no energy left in her to process it. She looked up at him, eyes slightly glassy with hurt.

"Why won't you do something? You're getting hurt," she said in a small voice. He sighed and stood to get out of the tub. She yanked a towel off the rack and threw it at him. He blinked at it for a moment, then wrapped it around his waist and abandoned his shorts and boxers on the bloody tile floor.

"We should probably wash my clothes," he said thoughtfully.

"Wally."

He sighed again and helped her out of the bathtub, lifting her over the bloody part of the floor and onto the rug by the sink. Then he sat on the counter and examined the gory mess he had made of her bathroom. When she shivered (her night shirt had gotten soaked and the AC was on its highest setting) he grabbed a second towel and bundled her up in it, tugging her into his lap.

"Be warm, tiny redhead."

"I worry about you. So much," she whispered, burrowing her head into his shoulder. She breathed in his familiar sent under the absurd rose soap she had used. Everyone on earth had their own distinct odor, and his was a warm smell.

"You know why I can't tell," he said, lifting her chin up to face him.

"No. I don't."

He ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm so ashamed. I'm supposed to help people, but I can't even protect myself."

"Wally…" Babs began.

"I mean I'm Kid Fucking Flash for God's sake! Protégé to THE Flash. I'm on an elite team of previous sidekicks, using their powers and experience to save the day! It's embarrassing. I can take down super villains but I can't defend myself from- him-" his voice broke.

"Wally."

"I mean, how am I supposed to help people if I can barely help myself? Can you even imagine what would happen if they found out? They might think I have some- weak spot that he's been using- villains could use it too you know- How would they ever be able to trust me in the field again?!"

"Wally!"

"And then I'd be USELESS, just like he says I am. I would have become everything that he says I am. Useless... Stupid... Piece of shit... No one could ever love ME. I'm just a fucking wimp. Coward. LOSER. Can't even DEFEND myself. Liar, even. Hopeless-"

"WALLY!" she yelled. He snapped out of it and looked down at her, slightly startled. He had been clutching her tighter and tighter as he spoke and now relaxed.

"Gosh, sorry Babs. I guess I can't even-"

She cut him off with a wave of her arm. "Stop it! Just stop, ok?! You are none of those horrible things and you will never BE any of those things, you hear?"

"It's just… Hell, Babs. I'm Kid Flash."

"No. Kid Flash may always be Wally, but Wally isn't always Kid Flash. Wally is a sweet science nerd with a big heart. He's teenage boy, and a bit of a flirt. IT IS OK to be weak sometimes, all right? You tell me that all the time. And you know as well as I do that abuse is NOT the victim's fault. Not even a little bit. But you have to tell someone, Wally. What if your healing isn't fast enough- or he brings out that knife again- or-" She knew crying wouldn't help but she was doing it anyway. She couldn't help it.

"Shhh... Shhh... It's ok. You know I can stop him if I absolutely have to."

"You need to tell somebody."

"You need to accept that I can't."

"If you don't tell, I will."

"Fine, and I'll tell them about your little issue too."

She was at a loss for words. She slid out of his lap and stared at him.

"How dare you."

"I mean it, Babs."

"There's no comparison. Abuse isn't 'little', Wally."

"And rape is?"

"It was my fault! I should never have accepted the alcohol, never have let myself drink so much..."

"There's help for you, Babs. You can get justice."

"In this town, we ARE justice."

"So go beat the shit out of him then. I'll help. Hell, the whole team will help."

"They're not going to find out."

"Fine. But what are you going to do about the fetus?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Bruce could help you. Get you to a good doctor. It'd be all over in a heartbeat."

"Bruce would KILL me. I broke the law. I'm supposed to uphold the laws."

"I think he'd forgive you."

"You're wrong."

"So are you."

Babs leaned against the wall. "I guess we're deadlocked then."

"If you tell, I'll tell."

"That's not fair."

"Yes it is."

"You could DIE, Wally."

"You're the victim of a CRIME, Babs."

"I hate to see you hurt! Please, even if it's just Alfred. Please just do something…"

"You know I can't. What if they don't let me be a hero anymore? I don't know what I would do…"

"Please."

"What if I promise that next time I'll stop it?"

Babs shrugged. "I guess I don't have a choice but to accept it."

"Truce?"

"Truce."

She climbed back into his lap. She might convince him to get help one day. But right now he was content being beaten without anyone knowing. It stopped his dad from hurting his oblivious mother. And Wally wanted to keep it that way. He would be willing to do just about anything to keep his mom safe.

Yes, no one knew but her how his father beat him. How he was never good enough for him. No one knew. No one on the team or in the League. Not Barry. Not Robin. Not even his girlfriend Artemis. No one he cared about knew. And that's just the way he wanted it to stay.

Two frightened teenagers sat on the counter in the bathroom of a lonely city apartment. They were tired and confused and scared. Both desperately wanted to help the other and neither had the faintest idea how to go about it. And so they rocked back and forth and cried together, hoping against hope that somehow it would be all right in the end.

AN: Well I hopeyou liked it. Please Review!