Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bart thinks he’s being watched.

Scratch that. He knows he’s being watched. He can feel eyes on his back when he heads to school in the morning, when he’s playing with Dox in the backyard, even when he’s sitting in the living room playing video games. Sometimes, if he turns around quick enough, he can just barely catch something moving out of his line of sight. Moving with superspeed.

It’s been a week since Bart had to rescue Max in the Speed Force. A week since Inertia disappeared. Bart’s not stupid. He knows what’s going on.

After two days, he goes to Max. “Max, did’ja know that Inertia is stalking me?”

“Yes.”

“Are we gonna do anything about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I want him to come out on his own.” Max glances out the window, and the windchimes on their front porch go berserk as something darts out of view. “He’ll reveal himself when he’s ready.”

Maybe Max is willing to be patient, but Bart sure isn’t. He just wants Inertia to hurry it up and do something already. So, he starts giving him opportunities.

He starts taking the long way to school, going down deserted streets where there’s less chance of encountering anyone. He keeps the curtains wide open, even at night. When he takes Dox out back, he loudly announces how alone and distracted he is and wouldn’t it be a shame if a supervillain came and caught him unawares right now? At one point, he heads into the woods, sits on the ground, and closes his eyes and plugs his ears, letting his guard down completely. He thought it would be an irresistible chance for Inertia to pass up. (Apparently, it’s not, because it doesn’t work.)

After a week, Bart gets fed up. He senses Inertia watching him as he walks up to his front door after school, and pauses for a moment with his hand on the doorknob.

“Y’know, this would be a lot easier if you would just come out,” Bart calls.

There’s no response, not even a rustle from the bushes. Bart huffs and goes inside.

--

The next morning, when Bart steps out onto the porch, he locks gazes with a pair of golden eyes hidden in the shadows. Their staring contest lasts less than a nanosecond before Inertia is gone. Bewildered, he heads to school.

--

The following day, Inertia’s shadowed form lingers as Bart plays fetch with Dox in the backyard. It’s the longest he’s ever stuck around, so Bart deliberately ignores him to try and avoid scaring him off. He watches Inertia out of the corner of his eye as he tosses the ball...

...and he throws it right into the bushes. Dox follows it, but stops and barks once he reaches the edge of the backyard.

“Whoops,” Bart says, and makes his way over to retrieve it. Before he can get there, however, something rustles in the brush, and suddenly the ball goes sailing over Bart’s head and lands on the grass. Dox yips and chases after it.

“Oh. Thanks?” Inertia is silent. He’s still mostly hidden by the trees, but a sliver of his face is illuminated in the sunlight. His expression is strange; he looks pensive, and maybe...nervous? Bart doesn’t get a chance to look closer before Inertia zips away.

Dox barks behind him, his ball laying expectant by his feet. “Sorry, boy,” Bart says, and goes to pick it up.

--

A few days later, Bart’s sitting on the couch, his back to the window and his portable Playtendo in his hands. He’s tilted a little bit to the side, so the eyes watching over his shoulder through the glass can see the screen. No words are being exchanged; the only sound in the room is coming from the video game Bart is currently speeding through.

Helen turns the corner and comes into the room, a book clutched in her hand. She looks over at the couch and gasps, and in the same second, Bart hears the familiar whoosh of a speedster making their escape. He glances behind him, and sure enough, empty porch. Bart sighs.

“That was Thaddeus, wasn’t it?” Helen asks, her hand pressed to her chest.

“Yeah. He was watching me play,” Bart says, just a tad irritated.

“You knew he was there?”

“Uh-huh. Max says I can’t confront him, so I’m keeping an eye on him this way.” Bart wiggles his Playtendo. “I think he likes video games.”

“Aw. That’s nice of you, Bart,” Helen says, ruffling his hair. Bart scrunches up his nose.

“I’m not being nice,” Bart grumbles, slumping back against the couch. “I’m watching him. He’s planning something, I know it.”

Helen hums thoughtfully. “Have you considered the possibility that he doesn’t want to hurt you anymore? It could be that he just wants a friend.”

“Yeah, right,” Bart scoffs, but his confidence wavers. He looks out the window one more time before going back to his game.

--

It’s three in the morning, and Bart can’t sleep. He tosses and turns and rearranges his pillow a thousand times, but all that does is get him sweaty and worked up. He groans in frustration and tosses his blankets to the side, hopping down to the ground. The wood floor is cool under his feet, and he sighs. He walks to the window and unlatches the lock, sliding it open. He sighs again as the cold night air brushes over his face.

Bart leans on the sill and rests his head in his hands. In the quiet, his mind wanders back to his earlier conversation with Helen.

“It could be that he just wants a friend.”

A friend. As if. Still, uncertainty nags in the back of his mind. Frowning, Bart leans forward a little.

“Are we friends?” He says into the open air. Predictably, he gets no response. “...Because I don’t think we’re friends.” Still nothing. Bart huffs and crosses his arms. “Aren’t villains supposed to be kept up at night because of all the evil stuff they do? ‘Cause it’s dumb if you’re sleeping right now.”

There’s a rustle in the grass, and Bart whips his head towards the sound. He holds his breath as something starts to emerge from the trees across the yard and—

Bart makes eye contact with an opossum. They both freeze in place as they spot each other, their eyes equally wide. There’s a long pause before the opossum blinks, ending their staring contest, and scurries out of sight.

“You suck,” Bart declares to nothing in particular as he yanks the window shut.

--

Five days after the incident with Helen, the Inertia sightings suddenly stop. By that point, they’d established a routine: Inertia would follow Bart to school every morning, staying just out of sight, then show up after Bart came home to watch him play video games through the window. Every evening, when Bart took Dox out to play, he’d be there, just inside the treeline. Bart had grown used to having a shadow, so when Inertia stopped showing up out of the blue, it bothered him. It bothered him more than he’d like to admit.

He can tell Max is bothered by his absence, too; Bart has caught him frowning at the empty yard a few times. On the third Inertia-less day, he mentions it to Carol while they’re walking home from school.

“He must be planning something,” Carol says, her brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“Not a clue.” He keeps an eye on the line of trees to their right, where he would normally be able to spot Inertia flitting between the bushes. “We went back to his lab after he disappeared the first time, but it was deserted. That was our only lead.”

Carol frowns. “What does Max think?”

“Max thinks we should wait. S’not like we can just go and find him anyways.” Bart kicks a loose pebble on the sidewalk, and watches it roll and disappear into the grass.

“I guess so.” They stop in front of Bart’s house, and Carol turns to face him, crossing her arms. “Be careful, okay?”

“When am I not?” Bart says, grinning.

Carol rolls her eyes and gently punches his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, speedy.”

“Seeya.” Bart waves as he makes his way across the yard and onto the porch.

He slips inside and closes the door, shrugging off his backpack. “I’m home!” Bart calls, steadying himself on the wall as he tugs his shoes off. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, but stops when he passes the living room and sees Max sitting on the couch watching the news. He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him, a troubled look on his face. Bart walks over and peers at the screen.

“—witnesses report seeing a quote unquote ‘green and black blur’ taking down the gunmen in the building. Is it possible that we’ve got a new speedster on our hands? Now we’ll go to Debbie, who’s on-scene…”

Bart’s jaw drops. He immediately moves to activate his Flash ring, but pauses when Max raises his hand. “He left as soon as the police arrived. You won’t be able to catch him.”

“We should still try to find him! Maybe he left something behind, a clue or—”

“Bart.” Max presses his lips together and sighs. “We have to be patient. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Last time he tried to play hero, he got violent!” Bart cries.

“I know. That's why we're going to keep an eye on him.”

Bart crosses his arms, glaring at the screen. “I don’t like this.”

Max rubs his eyes, his forehead creased. “Me neither, Bart. Me neither.”

--

It’s another week before Inertia is seen out in public again. Bart, Max, and Helen are in the car when the report comes in.

“—the mysterious speedster who stopped last week’s bank robbery, spotted again while rescuing a child from being hit by a drunk driver—”

Helen exchanges a look with Max before turning up the radio. In the backseat, Bart frowns.

--

“—an attempted robbery at a convenience store early this afternoon, with the cashier claiming he saw lightning inside the building—”

--

“Hey, Bart, have you heard about that new speedster?”

Bart mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of grilled cheese. Rolly grins and tugs a newspaper out of his backpack. “Well, someone was able to take a picture of him!”

Bart accidentally inhales some of his sandwich when he gasps in shock. Carol pounds him on the back as he coughs, her eyebrows furrowed.

Rolly spreads the paper out on the table, and they all lean in. The picture is grainy and blurry, nothing more than a streak of green and black and a hint of blond. Bart lets out a sigh of relief.

“That picture kinda sucks,” Preston says, resting his chin in his palm.

“Yeah, but pretty much all pictures of speedsters suck,” Rolly replies. “I wonder if he knows Impulse or Max Mer—Bart, man, are you okay?”

Bart nods even as he chokes, and Carol whaps him between the shoulderblades again.

“It’s weird that he doesn’t ever slow down enough to let anyone see him,” Preston says. “But he seems like a good guy, right?”

“I don’t know,” Carol says, looking at Bart meaningfully. “He feels pretty sketchy to me.”

Bart just sighs.

--

“—daughter of the victim, Angela Winfrey, wants to thank the ‘Emerald Blur’ for saving her father—”

--

Bart is sitting on the back deck, stroking Dox’s soft head as he sleeps in his lap. Max and Wally are talking quietly in the hall, and they don’t seem to realize that the back door is open.

“—people are asking me about it, you know. They want to know if he’s one of us, or if they should be worried about him.”

“He’s doing good things, Wally.”

“Yes, but why? We don’t know if that will last. Maybe he’s just trying to get your attention.”

“He is trying to get our attention, that’s the point. He’s trying to prove that he can be good.”

“I don’t know, Max. I don’t trust him, not after what he did.”

“You don’t have to trust him. This is my choice, my responsibility. Not yours.”

It’s quiet for several long moments. Bart thinks that maybe they left, but then Wally speaks up again.

“Do you ever regret taking in Bart?”

Bart’s heart freezes in his chest, his throat closing up when he hears Max sigh.

“When he doesn’t clean his room, I do.”

“Max.”

Another sigh. “No. Never. I don’t think I could.”

The tension in his shoulders unwinds, and Bart sinks back into his chair.

“...You’re a good man, Max.”

“For his sake, I hope you’re right.”

There’s a few shuffling noises, then the sound of two pairs of footsteps receding down the hallway. Bart strokes Dox’s head, his mind racing.

--

Max appears outside Bart’s classroom window, and Bart is off and running at his side the second he gets a hall pass. “What’s up? Who’re we punching?”

“White Lightning is robbing a jewelry store a few towns over,” Max says tersely.

Bart groans. “Aw, what? That’s the third robbery this month! When’s she gonna quit?”

The corner of Max’s mouth quirks up. “Maybe this time we’ll manage to nab her. Keep pace with me, alright?”

Bart responds affirmatively even as he rolls his eyes. When they arrive, Max slows down, and motions for Bart to do the same. They assess the scene from down the block: there’s a group of White Lightning’s gang posted in front of the store, and Bart can see her mane of white hair moving around inside.

“Go on my count,” Max murmurs. “Three, two—”

The men in front of the store start shouting, cutting Max off. Bart cranes his neck to see what they’re pointing at. “Oh, grife.”

“The Emerald Blur” comes tearing down the street, bowling over the men stationed in front of the door and disappearing into the store. Bart barely catches Max’s half-hearted command—“Bart, no, wait”—before he races after Inertia.

Getting inside is easy; Inertia has cleared a path lined with groaning henchmen. He and White Lightning appear to be in a standoff: Every time Lightning turns to escape, Inertia is there, blocking her way. Bart ducks behind a decorative plant before either of them can see him.

“So you’re the new guy in town, huh?” Lightning tries to sidle along the wall, but isn’t able to move a single step before Inertia zooms in front of her. “Looks like you’re just some sort of knockoff Impulse to me.”

“I’m not Impulse,” he bites out, his eye twitching. “You’re trapped. Surrender.”

“C’mon, speedy, why don’t you join me? You could have a share of the riches,” Lightning croons. Her hand slowly creeps into her bag.

Inertia scowls. “Give me the diamonds.”

White Lightning smiles. “Okay.” She turns as though she’s going to run to the left, but feints at the last second. Inertia anticipates the move, but not the feint, and is already moving to intercept her when Lightning flings a handful of diamonds across the floor in front of him. Bart winces as Inertia’s feet fly out from under him and he crashes onto his back. It’s an old trick that most speedster superheroes know how to avoid, but it seems Inertia wasn’t trained for that.

“Nice meeting you, kid, but I gotta run!” Lightning dashes past Inertia, who is seething in a heap on the floor, his expression murderous. Bart decides that maybe it’s time for him to step in. He sticks his foot out just as Lightning runs past his hiding place, and she trips and falls with a yelp.

“Oof,” Lightning moans, rubbing her head. She looks up at Bart. “Oh, hi, Impulse. You want to introduce me to your doppelganger over there?”

Inertia has gotten back up, standing with his fists clenched. He ducks his head a little when Bart glances over at him.

“I can tell you all about it during visiting hours at the jail,” Bart replies, stretching his arms out in front of him. “That sound good?”

“Sorry, kiddo. You know the drill.” Lightning lifts her fingers to her mouth and whistles. A loud revving noise comes from outside, and Bart turns just as a truck bursts through the front of the store. He yelps and leaps behind the jewelry counter. Inertia ducks down beside him. Bart shields his face as glass and rubble rain down around them, and when he uncovers his eyes, he sees White Lightning waving to him as the truck reverses with a loud screech and tears down the street, escaping again.

“Grife.” Bart drags himself to his feet, shaking glass shards out of his hair. Max runs in through the destroyed storefront moments later, swiveling his head as he assesses the damage.

“You alright, boys?” Max reaches out to brush some debris off Bart’s shoulder. Bart groans in response. “I see. White Lightning got away?”

“Duh. Stupid criminals,” Bart gripes, kicking at a necklace that had fallen to the floor.

Max turns to Inertia, who’s lingering next to the counter. Bart’s surprised that he hasn’t already run away. He freezes under Max’s gaze, his expression uncertain.

“Are you alright, Thaddeus?” Inertia’s eyes widen, and he nods. “Good. You did a good job, son. Thank you for helping out.”

Inertia’s lips part a little in surprise. His posture straightens, but he doesn't unclench the fists at his sides. He nods again.

“Will you come back with us?” Max asks. “We’d like it if you would.”

Inertia hesitates, his eyes darting over to Bart. Max looks at him too, expectant. Bart crosses his arms, looking between the two of them with his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Bart says carefully. “We would.”

There’s a pause, then Inertia—Thaddeus—clears his throat. “Okay,” he says quietly. A ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Max smiles faintly. “Come on, boys. Let’s go home.”

--

Bart and Thaddeus sit across from each other at the kitchen table. Thaddeus is fidgeting with the glass of lemonade Helen made Bart pour for him, tapping his fingers along the side. He hasn’t taken a single sip.

“You can drink that,” Bart says. “It’s not poisoned or anything.”

Thaddeus frowns, and doesn’t reply. He stares in the direction of the living room, where Max and Helen are talking in hushed tones.

“It’s really not.” Bart holds up his own cup, which he’s already drained two-thirds of the way. “Look, I already drank mine, and it came from the same pitcher.”

No response. Bart huffs. “Give me your cup, I’ll drink some and prove it.”

He reaches across the table, but Thaddeus yanks the cup away and scowls at him. Unperturbed, Bart makes another grab at it, and is once again unsuccessful.

“I’m not letting you drink it,” Thaddeus snaps. “That’s unsanitary.”

“No it’s not. We’re basically the same person, so we’ve got the same cooties.” Bart makes grabby hands. “Now gimme.”

Thaddeus glowers at him for a moment before lifting the cup to his mouth and taking a big swig. Bart grins triumphantly as Thaddeus sets the glass back down.

“See? Not poisoned.”

“Hmph. Whatever,” Thaddeus mumbles, and takes another sip. Bart revels in his victory.

Silence falls over them again. Bart studies the boy sitting across from him; he hasn’t been able to take a good look at him since their fight in the Speed Force. His hair has been cut short again, back to the scruffy blonde hairstyle he had when they first met, but otherwise, it’s like looking into a mirror. Same nose, same eyes, same teeth—he’s even got the same smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose that Bart gets when he goes out in the sun. They’re exactly the same.

Thaddeus catches him staring and glares. Maybe not exactly.

Bart leans his head on his fist. “So...you’re not gonna be evil anymore?”

Thaddeus bristles at the question, his perpetual scowl deepening. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘destroy the Allen family’ thing you were doing.”

He expects Thaddeus to snarl at him, or smile maniacally, or maybe even start throwing punches, but to Bart’s surprise, he shrinks into himself instead. His face flips through several different emotions before settling on bitterness.

“Hating the Allens was all I ever knew,” Thaddeus mutters after several long moments. “I was given no other option.”

Bart furrows his eyebrows. “You couldn’t just choose to, I dunno, not be evil?”

“I didn’t know I had a choice,” Thaddeus bites out, clearly trying to sound angry, but his voice is more miserable than murderous. “Until...until Max offered it to me.”

Something snaps into place in Bart’s mind, and suddenly, he understands. He remembers what he was like when he was taken out of his virtual reality and thrown into the real world. What he was like before Max started mentoring him, before he had his friends and his family. As far as he knows, Thaddeus doesn’t have either of those.

Not true, his brain interjects. He has you.

“Are you going to take his offer?” Bart asks, curious and the slightest bit hopeful.

Thaddeus’s expression suddenly turns serious. A little scared, maybe, but resolute. He has the same stubborn set to his jaw that Bart gets when he’s determined—like looking into a mirror.

“I was created to end the feud between the Thawnes and the Allens,” Thaddeus says, his voice firm. “This is me ending it.”

Bart grins. Thaddeus hesitantly smiles back.

--

“You know, technically I was also made to end the Allen/Thawne feud—”

“I changed my mind. You’re disgusting.”