As I walked back home, the cheap Flash Halloween costume rustled in the plastic bag I'd picked up from the store. It wasn't much—just a simple red suit with a lightning bolt across the chest—but it made me feel closer to Barry, like maybe I was one step closer to filling the void he left behind.

But my mind was racing. Barry was gone, and with him, the protection Central City relied on. There was a power vacuum now, and every villain knew it. Captain Cold, Doctor Polaris, Doctor Alchemy, The Top—each of them had already started pushing their luck, testing the waters. Without the Flash, they were running wild. And while the Justice League was busy with global threats, someone had to step up and defend the city.

Was that going to be me? Probably

I wasn't ready. Not even close. My 'speed' wasn't like Barry's. I didn't have the strength, the experience, or the certainty that I could win any fight. But I had something. And maybe that was enough. Maybe I didn't have to be Barry—I just had to keep the city from falling apart.

I finally reached home, steeling myself for the inevitable barrage of questions. As I opened the door, I was greeted by the worried gaze of my mom, her eyes scanning me like she could sense every move I'd made. Dad stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, just stared at me with that suspicious look I'd seen a thousand times before.

Iris had already gone home, needing to get herself together for work. But here, in the quiet of our house, I felt their eyes on me. Mom, worried but too tired to say more. Dad, suspicious, like he knew something wasn't adding up.

"Where've you been?" he asked, his voice sharp but calm.

I didn't have a good answer. Not one they'd believe, anyway.

I set the bag with the costume down by the door and shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I just went for a walk. Stretch my legs, you know?"

Dad's eyes narrowed. He wasn't buying it. "You've been gone too long for just a walk, Where'd you *really* go?"

I clenched my jaw. "It was just a walk, okay? Around the city. What, I can't leave the house anymore?"

He took a step forward, voice rising. "You think I'm an idiot? You're lying. I've seen you sneaking off. What are you up to?"

I was getting tired of this. Tired of him. "Maybe if you got off your ass once in a while, you'd know what it's like to walk around. Might even help with the gut you're building up."

The words barely left my mouth before his face twisted in anger. "What did you just say?" he growled, stepping toward me.

I knew that look. I'd seen it too many times, and I felt that old dread creeping up inside me. His fist swung at me, the same way it always did—but this time, something clicked. I didn't freeze.

Instead, I felt time slow down. The fist came toward me, but it was almost like I could see it coming a mile away. I sidestepped it, moving just fast enough to dodge. The rush of control was unlike anything I'd felt before. Without thinking, I shoved him back.

He stumbled, caught off guard by how easily I'd avoided him.

For a split second, the room was still, and all I could hear was our breathing. Dad looked at me, shock written all over his face, like he couldn't believe what just happened. Neither could I, honestly.

But I didn't care. I was done being the punching bag.

I took a step back, my hands still shaking from the adrenaline. Dad was still on the floor, staring at me in disbelief. Mom rushed over, helping him up, but her expression… I couldn't read it. It wasn't fear, but it wasn't relief either.

"I'm done being your punching bag," I said, my voice low but steady. I could see his confusion turn into anger again as he pulled himself up with Mom's help.

"Wally—" Mom started, but I cut her off.

"No," I said, keeping my eyes locked on Dad. "I'm not scared of you anymore. You don't get to push me around like that. Not again."

Dad's face darkened, but he didn't say anything. He just glared at me, breathing heavily, like he wasn't sure what to do next. I stood my ground, waiting for whatever came next, but inside, I knew I wasn't going back to how things were before.

Dad stared at me, his eyes narrowing, still rubbing his chest where I had shoved him. "How the hell did you dodge that so fast?" His voice wasn't accusing, just... confused. He looked me up and down, suspiciously, like he was putting pieces together in his head.

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "Lucky, I guess."

For a moment, he looked like he was going to press me, but then he just dropped it, muttering under his breath as he walked into the living room. I stood there, still tense, watching him go.

As soon as he was out of sight, the thought hit me: *Does he know?* Did Dad already know the truth about Barry? Did he know Barry was the Flash all along? My mind was racing with possibilities.

I headed to my room, my mind spinning. *Maybe Iris told him?* I thought as I shut the door behind me. *Did Mom know too?* It was strange—nobody had asked what I was doing that night, how I ended up getting struck by lightning. It felt like they were avoiding the subject, like they already had their suspicions but didn't want to confront it.

But I couldn't dwell on that right now. I needed to focus on the bigger issue—my powers. They weren't like Barry's at all. If anything, they felt more like *Hunter Zolomon's, manipulating time rather than moving fast. The time dilation, the way everything slowed down around me—it wasn't true speed, but it was something.

I was going to need more practice. I'd have to figure out the full extent of what I could do, and the only way to do that was to sneak out later tonight.

After dinner, I went upstairs and waited, counting the hours as the house settled into silence. Three hours later, once I was sure everyone was asleep, I quietly grabbed the Flash Halloween costume from my closet. It was laughably bad. The fabric was thin, cheap polyester, more pinkish-red than the signature crimson, with lightning bolts printed haphazardly on the chest and arms. The mask? Don't even get me started—it barely covered my face, and the eye holes were uneven, making me look more like a parody than a hero. But it was all I had.

I slipped it on anyway, feeling ridiculous as I opened the window. The cool night air hit my face, but I didn't hesitate. I needed to test something.

I jumped.

For a moment, I braced for impact, half-expecting a bone-crushing landing. But when my feet hit the ground, there was no crack, no sharp pain. I landed lightly, like my body absorbed the fall with ease. I stood there for a second, testing my balance. It was clear—my body had changed, probably from the experiment. I wasn't just fast; I was stronger, tougher. At the very least, I was at peak human condition.

I grinned, feeling the rush of possibility. It was time to really see what I could do.

I bolted out of the backyard, moving past the fence and across the front yard, my mind expecting to feel the wind whip around me. But no—it wasn't like in the comics or the shows. I wasn't fast. It was everything else around me that seemed slow. Every step I took felt normal to me, but the world around me dragged behind in a sluggish crawl, like someone had hit a slow-motion button on life. I ran toward the city, leaving Danville behind at... normal speed.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Windsor Heights.

Central City had always been painted as this bright, friendly Midwest hub in Missouri, where people smiled at strangers and waved from their porches. But neighborhoods like Windsor Heights? They were a different story. The air here felt heavy, tinged with something dark and forgotten. Graffiti scarred nearly every brick wall, and broken streetlights flickered uselessly, casting jagged shadows across the cracked sidewalks. Trash littered the streets, collecting in heaps along the curbs where no one cared to pick it up. Old buildings sagged like they were tired of holding themselves together, windows either boarded up or shattered, exposing the hollow insides. There was a permanent layer of grime that seemed to coat everything, from the street signs to the faded cars parked haphazardly along the roads.

It was too close to Gotham for comfort.

I slowed my pace, checking alley after alley, knowing that in a place like this, something was bound to happen. And then, I saw it.

In the dim light of a narrow alley, a man was pressed against the wall by two thugs, their grins wide and predatory. One had a knife, the other was going through the guy's pockets, taking whatever they could find.

A mugging.

I stood there for a second, my heart racing—not from the run, but from the reality of what I was about to do. This wasn't a comic book. There were no retakes. I had to act, now.

I looked him dead in the eyes, adrenaline pumping through my veins. "I'm the Flash," I said, turning my powers back on before he could respond. The world slowed again, and I ran, disappearing in an instant.

My heart raced as I darted through the city, scanning the streets and alleys for more signs of trouble. In the next hour, I stopped three more muggings and an attempted robbery, each time using the same brutal efficiency. Every punch, every kick felt more satisfying than the last. I let loose, beating them to pulps, and I enjoyed every single minute of it—the rush, the power, the control.

But as the hour passed, my energy started to wane. Exhaustion set in, the thrill giving way to tired limbs and aching muscles. Realizing I had pushed myself to my limit, I turned my powers off and began the long run back to Danville, my house finally in sight as I slowed down to catch my breath.

I reached home, the quiet of the night settling over Danville as I slipped into the backyard. Climbing the old tree was easy now, my body moving effortlessly as I scaled it. I jumped into my room through the window, landing softly without a sound.

The first thing I did was peel off that tacky Halloween costume, hiding it under a loose floorboard I had prepped earlier. My body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the night's chaos. Super Time Dilation didn't mean Super Stamina, apparently. With a sigh, I collapsed onto my bed, exhaustion overtaking me almost instantly.

As I lay in bed, my mind raced with the events of the night. I had actually done it—I had gone out as the Flash. The thrill of tackling muggers and feeling that rush of adrenaline still coursed through me. I could almost hear the praises echoing in my head, the gratitude of the people I had saved.

Would they see me as a hero? Would they recognize that, despite the costume's tackiness, I was trying to fill the void Barry left behind? A sense of pride bloomed in my chest, tempered only by the knowledge that this was just the beginning. Tomorrow, I'd have to face the world as the new Flash.

Authors Note: I can't stop, probably the last of this weekend still next week. What did you guys think... Wally isn't exactly a pacifist at heart yeah.

Feel free to drop suggestions.