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When Bart blinks awake, limbs heavy and body aching, he doesn’t think much of it. If anything, he is grateful.
Last he remembered, he was taken to the punishment rooms, whips cracking against his bare back and collar shocking him until he was just an unintelligible, drooling, compliant piece of meat once again.
But his body aches in a familiar, dull way. Sore but not burning with excruciating, constant pain.
When he opens his eyes, he’s met with the brightest light he’s ever laid his eyes on. He squints, shielding away from its blinding rays.
“Neal!” a voice shouts.
Bart pays no mind to the voice because all he can note is the way the air feels… different. Almost like it’s clear.
Where is the ash that pollutes his every breath? Where is the stale, thick air of the containment camps?
“He’s breathing really shallowly!” the voice shouts.
Of course he’s breathing shallowly. You can’t waste air by taking deep breaths, can’t risk inhaling the ash too much less you want your lungs to deteriorate faster than they already are.
The air. It almost stings his lungs. It’s too fresh. Too crisp. Too clear.
There are hands patting his body and he goes rigid. He knows better to fight. Instead, he goes limp beneath their touch in hopes they’ll spare him.
“Shit,” the voice hisses. “Neal. C’mon. Look at me, buddy.”
Bart squeezes his eyes shut, but the brightness protrudes his eyelids, illuminating them into a neon pink.
“Neal, you’ve gotta open your eyes,” the voice says, slightly pleading. “We have to check your eyes.”
Bart doesn’t know who this man is talking to. All he can focus on is the barrage of unfamiliar surroundings attacking his senses.
“Neal?” the man whispers.
Bart forces his eyes to open, struggling to stay open when everything is so lit up and vibrant.
“Where am I?” he croaks to himself.
“You’re in Times Square, New York,” the man says softly. “We were on a case and you were shot by an unknown weapon. Does any of this sound familiar?”
Bart swallows thickly. “No. It doesn’t.”
“Can you tell me the date?”
Bart wracks his brain, trying to find the correct answer, but is met with a blank space. You don’t need to know the date. There are higher priorities than calendar keeping. “I can’t,” Bart finally says.
The man’s breath hitches. “It’s July 13, 2013…”
“2013?” Bart repeats. “Did you… you’re not serious, are you?”
The man looks at him with bated breath. “Yeah, it’s 2013. Do you… do you think it’s a different year?”
Bart chuckles mirthlessly. “You could say that.”
He attempts to look around but struggles to get past the glaring light coming from above. “It’s really bright in 2013,” Bart mutters, the world spinning around him.
“Do you think you can sit up for me?” the man asks.
Bart gives a small nod and pushes himself up, his joints groaning in protest.
“How are you feeling?”
Bart shrugs. “Disoriented.” His hand goes to instinctually rub at his collar when he suddenly goes rigid. No collar. He silently vibrates his finger and watches as his superspeed kicks in. He sucks in a sharp breath. He has his speed. He’s… free.
And he’s in the past.
A past where the Reach hasn’t sunk its toxic talons into humanity.
“Neal?” the man asks.
That… is not his name. Bart curses silently to himself wondering if some poor bastard named Neal got swapped with him.
“Can I… ask a weird question?” Bart asks slowly.
“Of course,” the man replies.
“The Flash. Is he… alive?”
The man furrows his brows. “Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?”
And suddenly Bart can’t breathe. There’s a deafening ringing in his ears and his vision zones into a tight, thin black tunnel.
“Peter!” a woman calls, jogging towards them. “We’ve figured out what the gun did.”
“What?” the man — Peter — demands, worried.
“It’s a memory wiper,” the woman explains. “It deletes the last two thirds of your life.”
Peter gasps softly. Bart just stares at her with disbelief.
“So Neal,” Peter says, “in his head, he’s…”
“Twelve,” Bart finishes. He nods quietly.
Peter looks at him with a dropped jaw. “But…” He shakes his head. He quickly closes it and changes his demeanor. “Well, my name is Peter. In your future, we work together in the FBI together. You’re my partner.”
Bart… doesn’t know what to say to that. Just a few moments ago, he didn’t suspect he would live past his adolescence, and now he’s being told that he lives to… thirty six? And has a job? In the past?
What is going on?
“Wow,” Bart finally manages to say. “That’s… crash?” He gulps awkwardly and is thankful that the bright light from the sky is suddenly dimming. He looks up and his breath is knocked out of him.
Blue sky. Bright blue sky with puffy white clouds, just like Aunt Dawn had told him about.
He never imagined he would ever see it.
He can’t stop staring at the sky with wonder and hope so foreign to him.
“What are you looking at?” Peter asks.
“The sky,” Bart whispers. “I’ve never seen it like this.” Bart turns to look at him and is startled by the gutted look that Peter looks at him with.
“Have you never seen the sky?” Peter says cautiously.
Bart doesn’t know the right answer to this question. Because if this man truly knew Bart, knew his past, then he wouldn’t be asking this.
“I’ve seen… the sky,” Bart says, stumbling slightly over the lie.
Peter doesn’t look the least bit convinced.
As Bart tries to stand, he’s met with unfamiliar limbs, heavier and longer than his. Peter rushes to steady him. Bart flinches at the movement.
Peter just looks at him with that same sad concern again.
The woman approaches him with a kind smile. “Do you have any family we can try to get in contact with for you? I’m sure you’re feeling very confused right now.”
“Diana,” Peter hisses.
“Peter. Neal’s secret past doesn’t matter more than helping a confused child.”
“I’m right here,” Bart says flatly.
“Do you have anyone you want us to try and get in contact with?” Diana repeats. “Family? Friends of family?”
Bart’s fingers twitch at his sides. After a long, tense silence, Bart finally finds the courage to break it. “Wallace West. He’s my cousin.”
“On it,” Diana says, walking away.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Peter says softly. “From what we could tell, you haven’t exactly kept in contact with your family.”
Bart gives him a curious look. “Why?”
Peter stills. “You… you were in prison for four years. And you’ve been working for the FBI ever since, and not once have you mentioned your family.”
Bart lets these words sink in.
Huh. Weird.
“Why was I in prison?” Bart asks.
“Suspected art theft and proven bond forgery.”
“Boring,” Bart blurts out. “I just… man, considering what I’ve… that’s just really boring. And also, I mean… wow. I got caught? Me? That’s… huh.”
Bart can tell that Peter has questions, but he doesn’t ask them.
“Would you like to grab something to eat?” Peter asks. “You usually have quite the stomach, especially after a case.”
Something in Bart wants to say no. The part that only knows of scavenging and earning food.
The other part is aching with the whine of accelerated hunger gnawing him from the inside.
“Sure,” Bart says. “I could eat.”
“I’ll take you to your favorite place,” Peter says with a grin. “You can rediscover your favorite food.”
Apparently his favorite place is a restaurant that reeks of grease and meat.
It’s unlike the meat he is used to, bland and tough. Nearly scorched on the outside and somehow riddled with disgusting fat when it’s so hard that it makes your jaw ache when you chew.
“Big Belly Burger” it’s called. Bart remembers seeing one of them in the rubble of a city he was scavenging for parts. It had useful metal.
Peter orders for him and Bart can’t stop the way that his stomach churns from the looks of it.
He doesn’t know how he can possibly eat something like that.
He has survived on the bland and mild. Nourishment was all that matters, not taste.
But he takes a bite and tries to ignore the way it tastes so wrong and overwhelming and pretends to love it.
Bart feels uneasy being around all of these people. He’s never felt comfortable in crowds, especially of strangers. He has never felt safe in his life, but he feels especially paranoid sitting in a middle booth, unable to see who approaches him from behind.
He finds himself superspeeding to check, just to be sure.
Something buzzes in Peter’s pocket and he pulls out a thin metal rectangle. Bart has seen these in the scraps.
“Diana says she’s gotten in contact with your cousin,” Peter says. “He’s in New York and wants to see you.”
Wally was not in New York. If he was, then that’s just a very coincidental luck. No. He just said he was in New York to not draw suspicion from the fact that he can make it to Bart in record time.
What is he to Wally? What are they here in this unfamiliar time? This odd past that is not his own?
“That’s really crash,” Bart says.
“Are you excited to see him?” Peter asks.
Ecstatic, actually, Bart thinks. Because the last time he saw Wally was when he was bleeding out in his arms.
“Yeah,” Bart says, taking another bite from the wretched burger that he forces down his throat.
“Are you two close?”
Bart takes another bite just so he can procrastinate just a little longer as he finds the right answer. “He raised me when my parents couldn’t.”
Peter’s face falls. “Oh. I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.” Or a long time from now.
“Still,” Peter says. “You’re still young. Or… well… you know what I mean.”
“I had more pertinent things to care about than my parents’ death,” Bart says callously.
Peter winces at the words.
The door chimes as someone enters and Bart glances to check.
A chill rushes down his spine. Wally. With consciously human speed, he runs to Wally, barreling into his arms and holding on tight.
The two sink to the floor, Bart clutching at him helplessly as a dry sob escapes his lips.
Wally just holds him the way he always used to, carding his fingers through Bart’s hair and rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades.
Bart knows people are staring but he doesn’t give a damn. Wally is here. He’s alive.
“You’re alright,” Wally murmurs. “I’m here.”
“I’m s-o-orry,” Bart cries, burying his face into Wally’s neck.
“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault,” Wally says. He must’ve said these same words to Bart before. It seems like he’s had to say it many times.
“I couldn’t sa-ave you,” Bart chokes out.
“You did,” Wally insists. “You came back and you saved me. You saved Barry. You saved everyone.”
Bart looks up, his vision blurred with unshed tears. “The Reach?”
“Defeated,” Wally says.
“So the future,” Bart whispers. “It’s…?”
“You changed it,” Wally whispers back. “You changed it and you saved the world.”
Bart launches himself back into Wally’s arms and sobs louder.
“You’re alright,” Wally repeats. “I’m here.” Wally looks up to Peter while Bart is clinging to him. “He’s had a very rough childhood. We… got separated when he was young.”
Bart can’t see Peter’s reaction but he’s guessing that it’s a look of sympathetic pity.
“Do you mind if I stay with him? His… dad is heading over now.”
Bart scrunches his brows against Wally’s collarbone.
“Well, we’re going to need to keep him under observation in case there’s any residual effects,” Peter starts.
“The woman who talked to me actually mentioned that this is a League level situation? And that some representatives from the League are coming to analyze the mechanism that caused this?”
The buzzing from Peter’s metal rectangle returns and there’s silence when he checks it. “And… I just got the update. Alright. Should I take his food to go?”
Wally nods. “That would be great. Thanks.”
Wally has to practically pry Bart off of him, holding him up by the waist since he’s still wobbly on these new legs. He can’t imagine running on them which terrifies him.
“How did I get here, Wally?” Bart asks quietly.
“Time travel,” Wally replies.
“Huh.” Bart lets Wally guide him to a car and they drive in silence, Bart unable to take his eyes off of Wally.
He’s younger than he’s ever seen him. For obvious reasons. But it’s… it’s strange. He’s lighter too. Still hardened, but not jaded the way that his Wally could be.
“What am I doing here?” Bart finally asks.
“You were undercover for the Justice League,” Wally explains. “You posed as an art thief, made up of actual art thefts the League had had to do in the past, and managed a role as a criminal informant in the FBI. There, you were investigating the corruption inside of it.”
“It’s taken me this long?” Bart asks.
Wally pauses. “You finished your mission two years ago, Bart.”
Bart’s brows tighten. “Then what am I still doing here?”
“You… you didn’t have a life when you came back to this time. You legally didn’t exist. We tried to catch you up educationally, but… but you had a lot of trouble connecting to anyone outside of the caped community. Your identity was so… so tied to being a hero, that you never got to experience being your own person. It was always one mission after the other, never giving you the chance to grieve and mourn your past that would forver be lost. And then… and then you became Neal Caffrey.
“It was an identity you could forge yourself. An escape from the intensity of Young Justice while still being able to help. It was the type of normality that you never had before.”
Wally gulps. “You, uh, spent some time in prison. That was also part of the mission. Learning about the criminal underground. Making connections. Weeding out the twisted prison workers, the ones who were working with the criminals in it. And in that time, the four years you got to spend in a monotonous prison so unlike the camps you grew up in, ones that were kinder, or so you said, you got to come to terms with everything.”
Wally places a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “It was good for you. It may not sound that way, but it was. And you chose this life. You chose to step away from the League. You chose to have a life. And you… you deserve it. You deserve it so much. You’re happy and you’re healthy and you’ve found purpose.”
Wally smiles softly. “And I’m so proud of you. We all are.”
Bart blinks back another batch of unfallen tears. “I love you, Wally. I didn’t get to say it when you…” He takes a shaky breath. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Wally says, voice rough and cracking.
Wally takes him to a medical examination room in a building taller than any building he’s ever seen.
They run tests that don’t hurt and ask him questions he doesn’t understand the purpose of.
They give him an odd tiny sphere on a thin white stick.
“It’s a lollipop,” Wally explains. “It’s candy.”
Candy. Something only reserved for extremely special occasions. He can’t wrap his head around the abundance of food in this time.
Bart goes to bite into it but Wally stops him. “You have to take off the wrapper.”
“Oh.” Bart pulls it off and stares at the unnaturally bright red translucent ball. With bewilderment, he sticks it in his mouth and crunches down on it.
Wally cringes as he chews it.
“It’s stuck in my teeth,” Bart says with a frown. “And it’s… awful. Too sweet.”
“You’re supposed to suck on it,” Wally says with a small chuckle.
That in itself is a strange concept to Bart. It seems like a waste of precious time and a choking hazard in a combat situation.
“I don’t understand anything about this time,” Bart admits quietly.
“It took you years,” Wally says. “No one expects you to just adjust immediately.”
“But I—”
“But nothing,” Wally cuts him off. “It doesn’t matter that you have in the future. Or… your future. You’re you how you are now.”
Bart scowls. “Time travel is confusing.”
Wally snorts. “Tell me about it, kid.”
There’s a knock at the door and Bart tenses, readying himself for a fight.
“Wally?” a voice that sounds painfully familiar to him says.
“Dad?” Bart whispers.
The man that enters is not his father, though he has his eyes and his nose and his chin. His face is apologetic. “Hi, Bart. I’m your Grandpa Barry.”
Bart tries to smile but he can’t find it in himself to. “Hi.”
He enters the room, closing the door behind him. “I’m sure this is all very overwhelming…”
“Do you know how to fix this?" Bart interrupts. "How to get your Bart back?”
“You are our Bart,” Barry says.
“No, I’m not. I’m a memory. A broken old model that’s missing all the things that makes him Bart Allen.”
Wally and Barry stare at him.
Wally pulls Bart into his arms, cradling his head in his hand. “We love any version of you we can have. It doesn’t matter if you never go back to the you that you were. We will be with you every step of the way and we will love you no matter what.”
Bart lets out an uneven breath.
There’s another knock on the door. Bart pulls away from Wally and rapidly composes himself.
Barry pulls open the door and reveals a sheepish Peter.
“Hi. Is Neal in here?” Peter asks.
Barry gives him a dazzling smile. “He’s right here.” He opens the door wider. “You must be Peter.”
Peter, surprised, nods. “I am.”
“I’m Neal’s dad,” Barry says, holding out his hand to shake.
Peter, speechless and shocked, takes his hand. He looks between Barry and Bart and notes all of the similarities.
“It’s… great to meet you,” Peter finally manages to say.
“Neal and I have only really got back in touch these last few years. After his arrest, things were a little rocky,” Barry says, lying effortlessly.
“Well, I’m sure he’s glad to see you now,” Peter says. “And you are…?”
“Barry,” he says.
“Peter. Burke,” Peter says. “But you already knew that.”
Barry laughs lightly. “It’s alright.”
“Did you have any news?” Wally asks.
Peter nods. “The League technicians have been able to reverse engineer the gun and found that it’s just a memory blocker, not a memory eraser.”
Barry and Wally let out sighs of relief.
“They’ve got a magic user here to break the block,” Peter says.
“That’s great,” Barry says. “Thank you so much.”
Peter nods to him and leaves with a hint of awkwardness.
“So, guess I’m gonna be me again,” Bart says dryly.
“I almost… I almost wish we had more time,” Wally says.
Bart tilts his head. “Why?”
A pang of pain flits on Wally’s features. “When you first came to the past, we didn’t know where you were coming from and you had so many firsts by yourself. I’d… I wish I could’ve seen all of your firsts. Been there to help you work through them all.”
“Well,” Bart says, “considering the pretty schway life I’ve got, I think you’ve done pretty crash.”
Wally grins. “I’ve missed your future lingo.”
“Why’d I stop saying it?” Bart asks.
“I… actually don’t know.” Wally’s gaze gets far away. “Maybe I should ask.”
“Wally?” Bart says, voice barely audible. “I never imagined I’d have a future. When you… when you live the way I do… death is just inevitable. And it was always inevitable to me. But seeing you… seeing this future… it…” The tears finally fall. “I can’t believe I get to have a life. A real life.”
The door opens and a woman he recognizes as Zatanna Zatara enters.
“Hello, Bart,” she greets. “Are you ready?”
Bart sniffles and turns to Wally. “You’re gonna stay with me?”
Wally smiles tearily. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Bart turns to Zatanna. “I’m ready.”
She begins waving her hands. “Erotser traB s’nellA dnim!”
Neal Caffrey blinks awake, limbs heavy and body aching. He’s surrounded by family and definitely not in the middle of Times Square.
“So,” Neal gives them a lopsided grin, “what did I miss?”