A/N: Hey, guys, this is a short story based off my pre-existing AU! So, if you've already read the work before this (After the Fall of Olympus), great! This story takes place after Year 6.

If you haven't read that story and want to read this one first, that's also great and you should be able to without much confusion. Just read the note below:

-(warning for fairly minor spoilers for After the Fall of Olympus)

-Failsafe (an alien invasion) actually happened and took out the Justice League and almost all of Young Justice-like in the show. This story takes place five years after.

-The Titans rose to replace the League

-Jay Garrick started an activist organization to protect/ stop kid heroes

-Bart still came back from an apocalypse future and stopped Blue Beetle from starting the Reach Invasion

And that's pretty much everything you need to know for this story. Thanks for reading!

Slight warning for language

ooooooo

Half a world away from Central City, in one of Monte Carlo's largest penthouses, a man with sharp blue eyes cuts into a package with short, precise movements.

On the couch, a blonde woman glances over her magazine before rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Lenny, why even bother? It's out of date by the time it gets here and the shipping fees cost more that we used to make in a week. A good week."

"And now, we have money to spare." The man pulls out the newspaper with Central City Citizen large across the top. "It never hurts to stay informed."

"Depends on what you're waiting for."

The man ignores her, hands suddenly going tight around the paper as he stares at the headline.

For the first time in over six years, Leonard Snart's brain turns with a thousand detailed plans and when he looks back up, he finds he's grinning.

His sister still hasn't turned away from her magazine.

"Lisa, go wake up Mick and track down the others." His smile gets even sharper. "It's time to go home."

Printed in big black letters is the paper's top story.

The Flash Returns to Central City?

ooooooo

It's not the Flash. That's the first thing Len finds out, barely a week back in the city and still scanning through every snippet he can find about the city's new speedster. There's maddeningly little-only rumors and excited whispers and a few blurry pictures of something going faster than the camera can track.

There's a brief, bitter moment where Len thinks there's nothing. That it wasn't a speedster at all, maybe a Kryptonian stopping by briefly or something new and already gone. That he came back for nothing.

Then the Titans release a statement confirming that yes, a new speedster is working out of Central, that he's already associated with the Titans, and going by the name 'Impulse' and no, they will not be answering any more questions at this time.

Impulse.

Len rolls the name around in his mind, trying to decide if he likes it. It's new. Different and with different, there's always a chance that it's too different. That it's lesser and that whoever's weaving lightning through the streets won't be anything close to the ones that came before him. Won't be a challenge.

Len is so sick of not having a challenge.

The second thing Len finds out-or, well, really the first thing though it only fully comes together after the Titans' announcement-the new speedster values his privacy. Almost to a paranoid degree. There's nothing. No picture. No description. No clue as to where he came from or how he's here now. Central wouldn't even know it's a 'he' if not for the announcement.

It's strange. Almost like the early days of the Flash when the man was more myth than anything. But that had been a long time ago. By the time he died, there wasn't a man, woman, or child in Central that didn't know the masked face, the bright smile, and the lightning symbol.

Central City loved their hero. They wore shirts with his symbol, threw parades in his honor, cheered when he ran through the street.

They built an entire museum dedicated to him.

The new speedster hides from them.

And, for the life of him, Len can't figure out why.

ooooooo

It's a Wednesday night, exactly ten days since stepping back in Central, that Len finds himself at the Flash museum.

He's not quite sure why he's here. If it's to pay his respects or just because he needs a break from chasing dead ends.

Either way, the lock's ridiculously easy to pick for a place supposedly commemorating crime fighting.

He brings flowers. Because that's what you do when you visit a grave and the world can say whatever they want about Captain Cold but Len never wanted to see the Flash dead. Much less both him and the Kid.

It's dark inside the museum. Quiet, too, the only sound coming from the snores of a single night guard. Halls of memorabilia, of plaques, of exhibits spread out from a single atrium and right in the middle, carved from stone and towering three stories high, is the statue.

Len squints up at it, laying his flowers down at the base among heaps of other tokens.

"Hey, Scarlet," he says quietly, "bet you didn't think you'd see me again."

Whoever carved the statue got the body wrong, too wide with broad shoulders while the real man was slim with a runner's build. The face is decent enough.

Len sticks his hands in his coat. "I can't believe you went and died in a pointless invasion. You weren't supposed to do that. But then, you always had to go and be the hero, didn't you? Nobody left to even try and stop me. Not much of a game if no one else is playing, Flash."

"I made them a good life, you know," he continues aimlessly. He spares a brief thought wondering if he should feel insane, monologuing to a pile of rocks. "All of us Rogues. Planned a few good scores and got ourselves set up for the long game. No fun, though. Boring. The Rogues weren't made for sitting back and watching. You always knew that." He shrugs. "So, Scarlet, suppose the new guy'll be any competition?"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Len jerks, the cold gun already warming up under his coat and his finger on the trigger.

A kid stares back at him, large green eyes and shaggy hair.

Len takes his hand off the gun.

The kid's still staring, not looking particularly fazed at being alone in a dark museum with a stranger that's clearly carrying some kind of weapon under his coat.

Len decides on glaring. "The museum's closed, kid. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the kid says, walking forward and hopping up to sit on the rail that circles the statue. "I'm here because it's a good place to think and the gate's easy to climb. What's your excuse?"

Len narrows his eyes and doesn't answer.

The kid nods his head up at the statue. "Did you know him?"

"In passing," Len says shortly.

"Really? What was he like?"

Len pauses, actually taking a second to fully look at the kid.

His clothes look alright, new enough with only a hint of wear. His shoes, on the other hand, are practically worn bare, looking like a single more step might find his toes breaking through the sole. The biggest sign is the body language, tense and constantly at the ready even with the easy smile hanging off the kid's face.

Normal kids don't break into museums for a place to think. Not unless they're in some kind of trouble.

The new clothes say that at least he's not homeless. Len grew up in Central City, learned its darker parts like the scars on his skin. He knows a kid doesn't have to be homeless to not have a home.

A street kid, most likely. And screw it, if the kid broke into a museum to stare at a dead hero, Len's not going to be the one to burst his bubble.

The kid'll learn soon enough on his own what comes from chasing heroes.

Oblivious to Len's thoughts, the kid tilts his head. "Well? Come on, give me something."

"He was annoyingly decent," Len settles on. "Nice, I suppose, the way that real people aren't supposed to actually be. He was…."

A good man. A worthy rival. Dead.

"….the kind you weren't surprised became a hero," he finishes lamely. He gauges the kid's age as a young teenager, old enough to remember when the Flash died. "What about you? Ever meet him?"

The kid smiles slightly. "Nah. My cousin told me about him, though. Favorite kind of bedtime stories."

Len leans on the rail next to him. "You like heroes, kid?"

"Who doesn't like heroes?"

Len rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "You need a hero, kid?"

The kid stares at him, confused for a second, before he starts to laugh.

"No, no," the kid laughs again, "don't worry, I think I've got plenty of heroes around. I'm fine."

Len doesn't believe him. Not when his posture is still tense and guarded.

He drops it for now, though. Something Len's learned from bouncing around in the system, you can't force a kid to tell you anything.

Instead, he changes the subject. "Heard there's a new speedster in town."

"What? Impulse?"

"Think he'll be anything like him." Len jerks his thumb up at the statue. "Better?"

The kid shakes his head immediately. "No way. Flash and Kid Flash were the greatest heroes ever, no way the new guy even comes close."

Len gives a slight grin. He might actually like this kid.

"...yeah, you're probably right," Len says, pushing off from the railing. "Still...I can hope."

He turns back to the dark halls.

"You leaving?"

Len raises an eyebrow. "Believe it or not, I actually do have better plans than standing in an empty museum all night."

The kid gives him a look like he seriously doubts it.

Len takes it back. He doesn't like this kid at all, he reminds him too much of his sister.

"What's your name, kid," he asks, walking back.

The kid grins. "Bart. Bart Allen."

Len sticks out his hand. "Leonard Snart, though I suppose you can call me Len."

The strangest thing happens on the kid's face, like a flicker or a trick of light. Len blinks and it's gone and the kid's still smiling at him.

Bart shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, Len."

ooooooo

"I had a tan, you know." Lisa sighs wistfully, sitting beside him on the roof. "A beautiful tan from long hours on the beach. Do you know where you can't get a tan, Lenny? Abandoned warehouses in Central."

Len doesn't look away from his binoculars. "You didn't have to come back."

"Don't be stupid; it's home." She smiles. "And besides, Rogues stick together. Like any of us were going to miss the return of the Flash."

"Not the Flash."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Fine, yes, Impulse or whatever the new guy's calling himself. A speedster's a speedster."

Len just hums, still eyeing the bank.

Lisa bumps his shoulder. "So, you think the new Flash will be as cute as the last one?"

He finally lifts his gaze, giving his sister a long put upon stare. "I think that if we don't get more intel that the 'new Flash' is going to remain nothing but an indistinct blur. A blur that will have us in handcuffs before you even bat your eyes at him, sister dear."

"Such a killjoy," she tsks but goes back to her position. "How much longer until the show starts?"

"If Scudder's mirrors did their job right, the Martinez brothers should be hitting the bank in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds." Len checks the timer on the side of his binoculars. "Based on previous surveillance records, this Impulse has a response time of one minute and fourteen seconds after the alarm is pulled...the Flash had a response time under a minute."

"Aww, don't pout, Lenny. He's still new." Her voice drops back to business. "You sure these cameras will work?"

"They have military grade resolution and are set to activate the millisecond they detect anything over one hundred miles per hour. They'll work."

The alarm on the bank goes off.

"And the show begins." Lisa tilts her head. "Feels weird sitting outside a bank robbery, doesn't it?"

"Next time."

A streak of lightning rushes down the street and into the bank and approximately one minute and three seconds later, the Martinez brothers land outside the bank, hands tied and with their guns wrapped uselessly at their side.

Len turns to his sister. "Check the cameras."

Lisa's hands fly over the keyboard and then she pauses.

"...hey, Len, I don't think you're going to like this."

Len's heart is beating fast in his chest. "The cameras didn't catch him?"

Lisa lets out a choked off laugh. "Ah, yeah, I think it's more like he caught them."

On all twelve cameras, over a hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment, a simple yellow sticky note sits over the lens.

With a smiley face.

The new speedster's taunting them.

And despite everything, Len smirks. The game just got interesting.

ooooooo

"Hey, you came back!"

The next Wednesday, Len ends up at the Flash museum again.

He still doesn't really know why.

Len sighs heavily. "Didn't your parents teach you not to talk to strangers, kid?"

Bart's balancing along the edge of the rail, trying to walk it. "One, I'm not a kid-"

"You're what? Eleven?"

"-Thirteen," Bart insists before pausing, "actually, no wait, I think I might be fourteen now-"

"You don't know," Len says skeptically.

"Pft, time. Anyway, not a kid and two," Bart holds up two fingers emphatically, "you're not a stranger. You're Len or Leonard or, I guess, Mr. Snart but that seems super formal and I'm not really the formal type so I think I'm just going to stick with Len because Leonard's kind of bleh, you know? Not that I can really judge. I mean my full name's Bartholomew, so-"

"Do you always talk this much," Len interrupts.

Bart grins. "No, not always, but usually when I'm not, that's probably bad."

Bart is a really strange kid.

"So, why'd you come back," Bart asks.

"Maybe I wanted to enjoy the quiet," Len shoots back.

"Wow, well, I guess this really sucks for you then, doesn't it?"

Len feels a headache forming behind his right eye. "Isn't it a school night? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I don't go to school," Bart says with a shrug, windmilling his arms to stay balanced on the rail. "And I don't really like to sleep much."

Well, that at least confirms Len's suspicions of a street kid. And yet, he frowns.

"Why don't you go to school, kid?"

"That's another thing I didn't really like much." Bart almost over balances briefly before catching himself. "I mean I tried but it was just soooooo boring. I don't know how everybody else does it."

The frown deepens. "You should be in school. It's important."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty good at teaching myself."

"Still."

Bart looks up, laughing. "Is the guy I met breaking into museums really lecturing me about staying in school?"

"Yeah, he is." Len glares. "Listen, kid-Bart, a good mind can take you a lot farther than knowing how to throw a punch. Trust me on that."

The kid's smile softens.

"I'm fine, really...but, thanks, I guess."

Once again, Len doesn't believe him. But, then again, the truancy of one strange kid isn't really his problem.

Len's still frowning as he leaves.

ooooooo

Len pins the best photo they have to the center of the corkboard. It's a pretty pathetic photo, if he's being honest. A shape more than a person, only distinguished in red and white streaks and the lightning cocooning around it.

"Here's what we know," Len addresses the room. "Male speedster, goes by the name 'Impulse'. First report two months ago, saving a man and child during a meta attack in Central. Only speculation for about a month before he appears again and regularly around the city. We already know he's working with the Titans; but, based on response time, he's still centered in Central or possibly Keystone. No clear relation to the Flash, Kid Flash,or Garrick."

Mark huffs, twirling his weather staff around like a baton. "How have none of the people he's saved come up with a decent descriptor?"

"Apparently, he blurs his face," Len says, restraining an eye twitch as Axel pokes at one of his toy explosives, nearly exploding the hideout for the third time this week. "Like Garrick did back in the 40s."

"We sure Garrick doesn't know anything," Sam asks. "His house still has some kind of magic ward against my mirrors; but, I bet I could-"

Hartley snorts loudly. "Oh, please, like any hero is going to go within ten feet of Garrick with all the heat of the JSA surrounding him. If I was the new Flash, I wouldn't even stay in the same city."

"Well, then it's a good thing this Impulse is braver than you, isn't it, Harty-Hart," Lisa winks, turning to Len and ignoring Hartley's grimace. "Go on, tell us what else we got."

"He's toying with us." Len points to the smiley face sticky note. "Five different attempts and every time, he covered our cameras. Somehow, he knows we're back in the city. He knows we're watching him. He knows we're planning something."

"And he hasn't even tried to find us yet." Sam grins at Lisa. "Ha, maybe he is scared. Right, Lisa babe?"

Len lets out a breath between his teeth.

Children. His team is a bunch of children.

"Hey, Cap, what are we thinking about with age for this guy," Axel pipes in. "Think he's younger than me?"

"No one's younger than you, Axel," Mark drawls. "You're practically an embryo."

"I'm twenty-three!"

"It's unlikely," Len answers coolly. "Both Garrick and the previous Flash didn't start operating solely until at least their mid-twenties. Plus, based on speed, this Impulse is far closer to the previous Flash's speed than either Kid Flash or Garrick. Paired with the fact he seems to operate in Central at any hour of the day, I think we're looking for a male, mid-twenties, and either unemployed or with very flexible hours."

"Yeah, yeah, Flash this, Impulse that," Mick bangs a fist against the table. "What are we going to do about the Beretti family edging into our turf?"

The group shifts, turning to look at the resident hot head.

Lisa hums. "Well, we have been gone over five years. I guess we should have expected we'd come back to competition."

"Yeah, but not those Beretti sons of bitches," Mick grunts. "They're out of Gotham originally, lowest scum you can get. The sale laced drugs to kids kind of low. And word on the street is they're recruiting, too. Shit's gonna get real bad real soon, Len."

Len taps his fingers against the table.

Eventually, he speaks. "Impulse is still our main priority. But, the Beretti's are our new secondary target. Let's remind them why the Rogue's are the only gang that operates out of Central."

ooooooo

"Finally, I've been waiting for you forever!" Bart waves at the stack of cards in front of him. "Here, pick a card!"

Len's no longer surprised to see the kid.

"This museum really does have the worst security," he grumbles, sparing a glance at the spread the kid's laid out. It looks like the classic start to three card monte.

"Or maybe I'm just a super stealthy master criminal." Bart winks, sitting cross legged on the floor. "Now, hurry up! Pick a card! I've been practicing for an entire hour and no one else will play it with me anymore."

Len sighs but obligingly lowers himself to the ground. "I think you're missing a step."

"What? Oh, right!" Bart turns the card in the middle, revealing the red queen. "Okay, you ready?"

"Pass," Len says dryly. "I don't particularly see a draw in contributing to your life as a gambler."

Bart pouts. "Aww, come on, think of it like an educational experience. It's probability!"

"It's hustling."

"Still learning."

Len rolls his eyes. "Want learning? Lesson one, kid: want people to listen, learn how to sweeten the pot."

Bart pauses, frown going contemplative as he taps his chin.

Len waits.

"Okay, got it! How about a bet?"

"Still pass, you don't have anything I want, kid."

"Not a kid." Bart thinks for another second. "How about this? You win and I'll tell you how I sneak in to the museum every week."

Len raises an eyebrow. "You already told me. First time we met, you hop the gate."

Bart's grin getting wider. "I lied."

Despite himself, Len finds he's somewhat amused.

"Alright, let's say I'm in a particular generous mood and assume I care how you get into the museum-"

"Trust me, you'll care."

"-and let's assume I believe you won't lie to me a second time," Len finishes. "What do you want on your side?"

Bart shrugs. "How about a favor?"

"What kind of favor?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll think of that whenever I need it."

Len almost snorts. "I don't agree to unnamed favors, kid."

"Then, I guess you better not lose. And, I told you, don't call me 'kid.'"

"Still don't have a good enough reason to agree. Try again."

"Nah, I think you do." The grin Bart gives him is sharp and wide. "I think you want to see if you'll win."

The air falls quiet around them as Len considers.

"Fine," Len agrees. "A favor for a secret. Give me your best shot, kid."

Len doesn't mention that he hasn't lost a game of three card monte since he was half Bart's age. And he's not planning to start now.

Bart flips the queen back over and lays his hands on the cards. "Ready?"

"Go ahead."

Bart's smile runs just this side of mischievous. "Don't look away, okay?"

"I know how to play the game, Bart."

"Just saying…I'm pretty fast, you know."

Len actually does snort this time. "I think I can handle it."

"Kay."

Bart's hands move over the cards and Len tracks them, making sure not to watch the cards but the way Bart's fingers move around them. A few seconds later, they stop.

Len smirks as he points to the one on the right.

Bart smirks back as he turns it.

Eight of spades.

Len stares, blinking hard as if that will change what he sees.

"Told you I've been practicing." Bart leans back with a grin. "Guess that means you owe me a favor one day, huh?"

Len runs the moves over in his head again before frowning. He doesn't know how the kid just did that. Len always knows. "...show me that again."

"Ha, that wasn't part of the bet!"

This fucking kid.

ooooooo

The Rogues stop using the cameras. They're not worth the effort. All they have is handfuls of smiley face sticky notes and, unless Len finds a way to match two dots and a curve with a handwriting sample of everyone in Central, that's nothing.

Instead, Len moves on to phase two, plan b. The waiting game. If Impulse knows they're watching him, knows they're planning something, then let Len see how Central City's newest speedster reacts to the Rogues doing nothing.

In the meantime, Mick was right about the Beretti family. They don't belong in Central and Len's got more than enough ideas to make it clear they've overstayed their welcome.

Len has hunting to do.

And until he's done, let the world's new fastest man sit and wait for once. Len knows from experience that anticipation is often worse than the blow.

With any luck, this Impulse will be half mad by the wait before the Rogues even strike.

ooooooo

The next time Len sees Bart, the kid's hopped the rail and is leaning against the statue with a book propped open in his lap.

Len spies the cover and raises an eyebrow. "Steinbeck, huh? Never took you for a fan of the classics."

"I'm not," Bart throws in a shrug without looking up. "But, my friend bet me to read the library and this one's still bugging me."

"One, I know I was contributing to your gambling. And two," Len frowns, "that is a spectacularly terrible bet. You can't read an entire library, kid."

"Ha, sure I can!"

Not for the first time, Len thinks that Bart is a strange, strange kid.

He tells him so.

Unsurprisingly, Bart just grins. "Heard that before. And stop calling me 'kid'. Also, hey, pop quiz, do you believe in destiny?"

Such a strange kid.

"Why," Len asks, leaning against the railing to look down at Bart.

"Because I asked."

And Len isn't quite sure he wants to answer. "What do you think?"

"Not fair. I asked first."

"Life's not fair."

Bart cackles because, of course, he does. "Okay, fine, I guess I'll go first, you big baby." He gives a lopsided smile. "I don't believe in destiny. I know it. Some things are just supposed to happen. If not, it makes everything else way too screwy. Trust me."

Len's feeling generous so he'll pretend that anything the kid just said makes a bit of sense. "Alright, say I believe that, which things are destiny and which are more...let's say malleable?"

Bart smiles. "Well, that's the hard part, isn't it?"

"What's your book say?"

The kid runs a finger along the spine. "I guess it says that destiny's more of a maybe. That it's not about what people tell you to do or what you will do….it's just kind of about what's possible." Bart looks up. "That's not really destiny; but, I think I like that better. It makes it feel more real."

Len watches him before shaking his head.

"Destiny's not real, kid. If it was, the world would be a lot less messy."

ooooooo

Really with how nosy the Rogues normally are, Len's lucky he's made it this far.

"Where do you keep going Wednesday night?"

Len rolls his eyes and doesn't look up from his files documenting the Beretti's top enforcers.

Standing above him, Hartley tilts his head. "Not trying to keep a secret from us. Are you, Len?"

"Quit bugging him, Hartley. Snart's probably just found himself a lady friend." Mark waggles his eyebrows outrageously in a way that makes Len regret ever meeting him.

Axel lets out a low whistle. "No way, boss, is that true? You got a girl?"

Sitting on the kitchen aisle, Lisa lets out a loud laugh. "No way, Lenny with a crush is at least fifty percent more awkward. I bet my dearest brother's just found a new place to brood."

Amazing as it sounds, Len hears that other gang leaders actually get respect.

"Or he's finding our next job," Mick says, running a hand over his heat gun almost lovingly. "Man, I can't wait to give the new baby a real test run."

Sam hums distracted, not looking up from his mirror. "Nah, Lisa's right. He just goes to the Flash museum."

As one, the entire room looks up. Sam stops, paling as he realizes what he just said.

Len glares. "And why precisely do you think that, Scudder?"

"Oh, well, you know, Len-er, I mean, boss." Sam winces. "Sometimes, my mirrors just get curious and it never really hurts-"

"Why do you go to the Flash museum, Lenny," Lisa interrupts and her voice is abruptly serious.

Len sighs. "I was just paying my respects, sis. That's it."

"That's a once, maybe twice kind of thing," Lisa says. "Not hours every week. These kind of things fester, Lenny. You can't bury yourself in the past."

The Rogues have gone quiet around them, watching how the conversation plays out.

"I'm not," Len grounds out. "And it was just a once kind of thing."

"Sam, says it's where you've been every Wednesday. I know how your obsessions start. You can't-"

"There's this kid, okay?"

Lisa blinks, cut off from her no doubt concerned tirade. "What?"

Len turns pointedly back to his work. "There's this kid that keeps hanging around the Flash museum. The type of kid like we were."

There's another two beats of quiet before…

"...aww, Len, why didn't you just say so," Lisa coos. "Look at you and your heart of gold acting up again. Adorable!"

"I don't have a 'heart of gold.'"

The air around the room relaxes again, a good handful of the Rogues hiding smirks behind their hands as Len glares at every single one of them. He wonders if he can find a way to give them all the worst job next heist. Or maybe just Hartley and Sam since they started all this mess.

Unaware of his impending fate, Hartley lounges back on the couch. "So, what's the kid's name?"

Len doesn't dignify that with an answer.

Lisa pouts. "Oh, come on, Len. We'll find out anyway."

Truly, the lengths Len has to go to get some work done.

"Bart."

"Let's meet him!"

"No."

ooooooo

The thing about Bart is that he makes it surprisingly easy to forget that something's off about him.

The kid's strange. That's undeniable. But, he's the type of strange that shows off dumb card tricks, has a ridiculous sort of grin, and says things just skating the bounds of not normal. It's a bright kind of strangeness, a happy one, almost magnetic. No need for concern.

It's the little things that pick at Len. The why's. The moments that Bart makes jokes a bit too dark for a fourteen year old kid. The odd sense of weight he brings to seemingly innocuous phrases. The responses that don't make any sense.

It's a month and a half after their first meeting that Len gets the first hint that there's something truly wrong about Bart Allen's life.

"This is ridiculous," Len says.

Bart ignores him, focusing instead on shuffling his card deck one more time.

He holds up a seven of diamonds. "Okay, is this your card?"

"No," Len responds flatly. "Kid-"

"Not a kid."

"-kid, you've gone through half the deck. Give it up, magic's not going to be your hidden talent."

Bart huffs. "Well, duh, magic's not real. But, I know I can get this card trick."

"Magic's not real, huh? Pretty sure there's some superheroes out there that would disagree with you. New lesson, don't discount stuff just because you can't do it. That's how you end up dead."

Bart pauses in shuffling long enough to roll his eyes. "I'm not discounting it; I'm just saying it's not real. Magic's just science we haven't learned how to explain yet. My cousin always told me-"

The ring of a phone cuts them off.

They both stare at each other for a solid second before Bart is scrambling in his pocket, pulling out a phone only to quickly silence it before Len gets to see anything more than the name Jaime flashing across the screen.

"Sorry, they made me get a new phone," Bart mutters, still looking at the screen.

"Well, don't ignore it on my account," Len says smoothly, curiosity getting the better of him as Bart's gone quiet and still.

"No." Bart shakes his head firmly, still laying the phone down with a surprising amount of gentleness as he turns pointedly back to Len. "It's fine, I didn't want to talk to him anyway."

Len raises an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

The grin Bart gives him is too wide to be real. "Doesn't matter, I'd rather be talking to you anyway. So, maybe if you pick a different card-"

"Yeah, no," Len presses, smirking because this is the first time he's seen the kid so much as ruffled, "come on, kid, why are you looking at the phone as if it's the next great plague."

Bart's smile dims, voice going hard. "Maybe I don't want to talk about it. Especially not with strangers I meet breaking into museums."

Gone on to defensive, then. Len's even more intrigued.

"Oh, so, I'm back to being a stranger again," he questions. "Good, who better to trust with secrets than a stranger?"

"I've met a lot of bad strangers," Bart shoots back before he sighs, looking at the cards. His voice goes quieter. "Look, it's complicated and….and it's not really the nice kind of story either. You don't want to hear it. Believe me."

As if Len's ever known how to drop a good mystery.

"Try me, kid," he dares. "I've heard a lot of shit in my life. Something tells me that whatever secret you're holding doesn't even come close."

Bart stares up at him, green eyes going dark and mouth firming.

"I almost killed him. That's why I don't want to talk."

That….that wasn't what Len was expecting.

"By accident," Len asks because Bart's a fourteen year old kid, a weird kid but not a bad one. Len's good at knowing people. He would put his money on the kid never doing anything truly malicious in his entire life.

Bart lets out a slow breath. "No, not by accident."

"Did you have a good reason," Len tries again.

Bart goes quiet, thinking, before finally, he shrugs. "I thought I did."

Something in Len's chest settles. Like the sudden worry that he was looking at Bart through the wrong lens shifting until he realizes he just wasn't looking at the full picture.

"What stopped you," he asks.

"Jaime did." Bart looks down at the phone. "Or I guess, really, he didn't. He was going to let me kill him and that meant….well, that meant he wasn't the thing I wanted to kill. Like I said, it's complicated."

Len thinks he's starting to understand that now.

"The thing is," Bart continues, the words getting faster now like he's rushing to confess a secret, "I thought he'd hate me. I thought that after everything I did, after what I almost did, I thought there was no way he'd even want to be in the same room as me. But, instead, he's just….Jaime. He keeps checking on me and trying to talk and…."

Ah.

"He forgave you," Len guesses.

Because sometimes there's nothing harder to accept than forgiveness you don't feel you've earned.

Bart nods, hunching into himself. "Everything's backwards. Everything about this place is so different and nice and….I don't know how to fit in here. I don't know what to do, all I know how to do is act like I do. But, Jaime knows what I am and so I don't understand why he still wants…." The kid cuts himself off and looks up at Len with a kind of frustrated helplessness. "I don't understand how he can forgive me? Why he'd even want to?"

Len's known Bart for just over a month. Tonight is the first time that Len can truly see the cracks running down the kid's mask. The desperation behind the bravado. The loss. It makes Len feel….the oddest sense of second hand regret.

Kids, especially ones like Bart, should never doubt why someone wants them around.

Len clears his throat. "Sometimes it's not about whether or not you deserve forgiveness. It's about making the most out of that second chance."

Bart lift his lips in a half smile. "I still don't understand."

"No." Len reaches out to the card deck and pulls out the king of clubs-the card he'd drawn what seems like hours ago. "But, some things you don't have to understand."

ooooooo

Sometimes plans go wrong.

Plans go wrong and people get hurt.

His family gets hurt.

"Len," Lisa says softly, reaching out to touch his hand. "Mick's going to be fine. Hartley says the first bullet went through and through and the second one….well, we've still got a few bags of Mick's blood type in storage. Hartley will be able to fix him back up, I promise."

The Beretti's were ready for them. What should have been a simple show of force to five of the Beretti's top enforcers ended with Mick bleeding out in a fricking abandoned meat factory and the rest of the Rogues involved in an all out gun fight.

They won. Even in failure, Len's plans have contingencies built onto contingencies. If not, they'd all be dead.

"I'm going to kill them," Len grits out. "Every last one of them."

"No, you won't," Lisa says firmly. "Rogue's don't kill. We're smarter than that. And we're not changing who we are for bastards like the Beretti's."

Len stands up so fast he nearly knocks the chair down as he begins to pace. "Then, what do you want me to do, huh, Lis? The Beretti's nearly killed Mick-killed all of us. We failed. Just like we've failed to find so much as a single picture of the new Flash. Maybe I was wrong. If all it was going to do is mess things up for us, maybe we should've stayed as far away from Central as we possibly could."

Lisa stands up to grab his shoulders. "Len, shut up! This is our home; we were always going to come back."

Len pulls away from her.

Lisa's right. He knows she's right. One failure won't stop them. Can't stop them. But….Mick's blood is still staining under his fingernails and he can still hear the ring of bullets in his ears.

Another failed plan.

ooooooo

Len doesn't go back to the Flash museum on Wednesday. Or the week after that. Or that month.

He's been an idiot.

He doesn't have time to help lost kids. He's not good at helping lost kids. It's not what he's built for. He's built for meticulous plans, intricate robberies, and being fast and smart enough to keep even speedsters on their toes.

So, that's what he focuses on.

Mick's out of commission for the next month; most of the fight already is going to be making sure the hothead stays that way long enough for the bullet holes to heal.

As for the Beretti's, the heads of the organization received an unexpected visit from the new Impulse barely three days after their fight with the Rogues. The entire family's tied up in legal work and house arrest for the next few months and Len's practically itching for them to get back in the game. For them to be back on the street so the Rogues can show them what it really means to hurt one of their own.

Until then, Len's playing the waiting game.

And like it always does when there's nothing else to think about, his mind turns to Central's resident speedster.

Impulse.

That's the reason the Rogues are even back in Central City and Len thinks it's high time to start a new plan.

All of which leads him to Chubbuck street and a hole in the wall pizza shop with a sign on the window reading, Free pizza for speedsters!

The sign itself isn't unusual, a good half the restaurants in Central have them, have had them for years even when there weren't any speedsters left in the city. The unusual part is that, according to word on the street, this sign actually gets used.

There's always the hope that if this Impulse likes the restaurant so much in uniform, he might like it just as much out of it.

To tell the truth, Len's more here for the headspace rather than any hope Impulse will actually show. There's something he enjoys about looking at the surroundings and trying to picture the man who would be attracted to it.

In his booth, Len glances around at the other patrons and wonders. Impulse is a male, likely mid-twenties to thirties, in shape, and-if Len had to bet-probably with that same bright do-gooder kind of air that all the superheroes seem to wear like cologne.

"Hey."

Len jumps, turning to the familiar voice with the feeling like his gut's dropping.

Bart looks different outside of the quiet of the museum. He's smaller somehow, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and smile subdued.

"What are you doing here," Len blurts out before he can help himself.

Bart gives a small smile at the familiar words. "I could ask you the same thing." He shrugs. "I like the pizza. Can I sit?"

Len doesn't want him to. He wants Bart to get as far away from the Rogues as possible so Len doesn't have to deal with another life in his hands. But then, the kid's stomach growls like he hasn't eaten in months and just ran a marathon and Len finds himself waving him to the table before he can think twice.

"You weren't at the museum this week," Bart says as he sits. "Or last week."

"Had other things to do," Len mutters, pushing a plate of pizza in the kid's direction.

He pokes at it rather than eating. His stomach growls again. Loudly.

Len glares. "For the sake of my eardrums, kid, eat."

Bart obligingly takes a bite and the silence falls back around them.

The kid chews slowly before swallowing. "...was it because of what I said?"

"What," Len says because the kid's barely said ten words since he got here. Which in and of itself is weird for Bart.

"Did you stop coming to the museum because of what I told you last time?" Bart looks down at the pizza again. "About what I nearly did to Jaime."

Oh. And now doesn't Len feel like the biggest asshole in the entire city. He knew he wasn't built for this.

"No, kid," Len says slowly but firmly. "Trust me, I've seen too many bad things to be upset at 'almosts' and 'maybes'. If this Jaime kid forgives you, far be it for me to try to judge."

Bart looks at him for a second, clearly judging on whether he believes him or not.

Len just stares back at him, not lowering his gaze.

Whatever he's looking for, Len must pass because Bart goes back to eating the pizza, this time with his usual smile back across his face.

"So, why'd you stop showing up, you jerk?"

Len sighs. "Because I'm not a good guy to be around."

Because people get hurt when he's around and sometimes there's nothing Len can do to prevent it. Because his best friend was shot in the leg, inches away from an artery, and Len almost watched him bleed out. Because criminals don't get to play friends with a kid just looking for a hero.

Len's not the hero. He's the villain.

Bart snorts. "Don't seem that bad to me. And the free pizza kind of sales it."

"You don't know a thing about me, kid," Len grounds out, expression serious. If there's one thing he needs Bart to understand, it's this. "You have no idea the kind of person I am. I'm not a good guy to be around, Bart. I'm not a hero. And I'm definitely not the type of person you need to hang around. You understand?"

Bart chews on his pizza idly. "Oh, so is this about your Captain Cold stuff?"

Len swears his heart nearly stops.

"What do you mean," he says a touch too slow.

"You know," Bart waves a hand dismissively, "are you trying to warn me away because of how you're Captain Cold?"

"Stop saying that." Len swears, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone's listening. Fortunately, no one seems the least bit interested in the strange kid casually calling out one of Central City's most wanted in a fricking pizza parlor. "How do you know that?"

Bart stares at him like he's an idiot. "Are you kidding me? Your name's public record. We literally met at the Flash museum. There's an entire exhibit dedicated to you! I've known since we met."

Len feels simultaneously like he's unexpectedly fallen into an open manhole and slammed face first into a wall.

He stares.

Bart shrugs again. "So, yeah, if it's about that, don't worry, I'm not concerned."

"You're not concerned," Len repeats blankly.

"Nah."

"I'm a supervillain and this doesn't concern you at all," Len says again, incredulous. "I have the record for most successful crimes ever pulled off in Central and you're not concerned."

"Yeah, but they're all just like robberies. I don't really care about stealing. I've had to do that before, too, back before-" Bart pauses. "Though, dude, really, how much money do you possibly need?! Like it's one thing to steal food, it's another thing to steal a bank! Donate that money to a food bank or a homeless shelter or something. Crash the mode!"

Len can't believe he's sitting in the middle of a pizza parlor, being told off by a fourteen year old for not spending his stolen assets responsibly.

"I'm a bad guy, Bart," he says one more time. "I need you to understand that. You shouldn't be around me."

Bart's face softens. "No, Len, you're really not. Believe me, I know evil and you?….You're not even close."

For as second, Len flounders as Bart smiles again and turns back to eating his pizza.

"Bart," Len says quietly, "no matter what you think about me now, if you stay around long enough, you're going to get hurt. That's just how these things go."

Bart sighs, looking down and there's a long moment where Len thinks the words have finally sunk in. That Bart will leave and go on to live a safe, somewhat normal life and Len will still be here, playing cops and robbers with meta humans. The way things are supposed to be.

And then, Bart looks up and there's something dark in his eyes now, not something added, more like...like absence. Like dropping a mask.

"Len…," Bart says, smiling ruefully, "being around you is so low on dumb things I've done in my life that it doesn't even count. Don't worry about me, I've survived….well, a lot worse than anything in Central. You're not a bad guy. You're my friend."

Len stares at Bart, suddenly feeling a weight in his gut that is so much worse than the one a few moments ago.

Unaware, Bart grins at him, seriousness evaporating like clouds on a sunny day. "See you at the museum next Wednesday, okay? Don't make me track you down?"

And Len...Len nods, mind already stuck on Bart's last words.

Bart's not normal.

Len knew that. He knows that. And yet, abruptly, Len comes to another realization. The jagged pieces fitting together to form something larger and far more worrying.

At some point in Bart Allen's life something went very, very wrong.

Wrong enough that he hides in museums, almost kills his friends, and talks casually with super criminals as if it's normal.

So, no, it's not just that something went wrong in Bart's life. Len has the gut feeling that it's still happening.

Len's not the good guy.

He's not. He's not.

But...he's going to find out what. Even if it means sticking around long enough for the kid to tell him.

Len nods. "Yeah, kid, see you Wednesday."

ooooooo

Len makes it back to the renovated warehouse with his neck still weighed down in thoughts.

Of course, it's his team, so, they never let him actually think quietly for long.

Axel's the first one that sees him and stops dead, turning to yell down to the kitchen. "Hey, guys! Guys! Len's stopped brooding! He's got his planning face back on!"

Mark sticks his head out next, staring at Len hard before he laughs. "Kid's right! Finally, thought you were going to be all mopey for another month."

One day Len's going to murder his team and not a jury in the world would convict him.

"Tell him to come in here," Mick calls from the kitchen. "Can't get anywhere with this frickin' cast in the way."

Because it's Mick and Mick will irritate his injury if not, Len sullenly makes his way to the kitchen.

Lisa turns up from her magazine, takes one look and smiles softly. "Glad to have you back, Lenny."

Beside her, Sam grins wide in a way that's ridiculous for a man in his thirties. "So, what's the new plan? How are we catching Impulse?"

"Still working on it," Len says coolly.

He does admittedly take some joy in watching his team deflate.

"Aww," Axel slumps at the table, "and I thought he was done with his brooding mood."

Lisa squints at him before nodding decisively. "No, he is. That's definitely his idea face. Mick?"

"Lis' is right," Mick confirms, already distracted with jamming a fork to scratch under his cast. Hartley grabs it, frowning like Mick just violated the Geneva Conventions.

"If it's not the Flash, then what's the plan," Hartley asks.

That's one of the things Len's likes about Hartley. He's always quick on the draw.

"We have a third goal now," Len says, watching as the Rogues all sit a little straighter at that particular tone. "We catch Impulse, we make the Beretti's wish they'd never even heard of Central, and…."

He glares at his team, daring a single one of them to make a joke, "...we find out everything we can on Bart Allen."

ooooooo

Len goes back to the museum on Wednesday.

"Hey," Bart says and Len doesn't have to try hard to hear the relief, "you made it."

Len leans against the rail, folding his arms. "I told you I would, kid. Besides, something tells me you'd have hunted me down anyway."

Bart grins. "...well, yeah, maybe. What can I say? You're interesting company and I'm booooored. No escape, Len. This is your life now."

Len rolls his eyes hard enough to make Bart snicker.

"Okay, so I have a question," Bart leans beside him on the rail. "So, I know that you're Captain Cold and now you know that I know that you're Captain Cold and I know that you know that I know you're Captain-"

"Get to the point, Bart."

"Anyway," the kid is practically hopping on his feet now, "does that mean I can get the cool stories now?"

Len raises an eyebrow. "The cool stories?"

Bart nods excitedly. "Yeah! You know! You versus the Flash! The awesome ones. I want to know everything!"

Len tilts his head, considering, when a plan suddenly stitches together in his mind.

"Fine," he says, drawing out the word, "one one condition. Remember what I said about sweetening the pot?"

Bart snorts. "I'm not showing you the card trick again."

"I've got something better. A question for a question." Len smirks. "Every question I answer, I get to ask you one. No lies. Deal?"

There's more than one way to get information. And sometimes, the simplest way's the best of all.

Bart doesn't answer immediately, taking longer to think than Len's ever seen him take.

"Deal," Bart agrees, "but, you got to promise something, too."

"What?"

The kid gives a quiet sort of smile.

"Promise me you won't hate me if you get an answer you don't like."

Len frowns. This kid.

"I'm not going to hate you, Bart. I promise."

Between the beats of a second, Bart's back to the sunny, wide smile as if the quiet moment never happened.

"Awesome! Me, first. When's the first time you met the Flash?"

Len hums, tilting his head back until he's looking at the statue. "Pretty boring story, actually. Was just out of my second stint in Iron Heights. Thought the Flash was a fairy tale or maybe just some overzealous fans trying to copy the first Flash. Either way didn't think it was anything real. Planned a normal bank robbery, nothing major, didn't even get Mick involved. Flash had me in handcuffed five minutes after the alarm was pulled." He gives a crooked smile. "After that….well, I never have been able to resist a challenge."

He looks back at Bart, somewhat surprised to see the kid watching him with an oddly focused look, like he's memorizing every word Len says.

Len shakes it off. "My turn. What's your full name?"

Bart's face scrunches up. "Ugh, that's such a boring one!"

"My question, my rules. Fess up, kid."

"Bartholomew Wallace Allen." Bart huffs. "Bartholomew, ick. It's a family name so I guess they kind of had to pick it; but, seriously? Even Grandpa hated it."

"What about Wallace?"

"Also, a family name. That one I like more. Now, stop cheating! It's my turn. What did you do after you met him?"

"Other than breaking out of jail?" Len thinks back, a reminiscent thrill and a trace of melancholy coming along with the memory. "I called Mick. We didn't even have the ideas for the guns yet; but, we started planning. Tracked down his movements, stole some police radios, shook down some of his previous arrests. Honestly, I don't even know if Mick believed me half the time. No one in the city was reporting on him yet. Only the crackpots and the tabloids. It's one thing to see Metropolis' flying man on the news or hear about Gotham's vigilante, it's something else to believe someone's breaking the laws of physics in your hometown."

"Why did he hide," Bart asks.

"That's another question," Len says but answers anyway. "No idea. Not like we talked about it over coffee. I suppose for the same reason Impulse hides. You never really know how people will react to super powers."

"That's not why Impulse hides," Bart says immediately.

"And how do you know that?"

Bart grins. "Is that your question?"

Len snorts. "Nice try, kid. I'm not letting you dodge the real questions, speculating about Impulse."

For some reason, Bart laughs so loud the sound echoes against the windows.

"Okay, sure," Bart settles down. "Ask your real question, then."

"Have you always lived in Central?"

Bart shakes his head. "Nah, I only got here like a few months ago. I've always wanted to live here though. Just, um, when I was growing up it...wasn't really an option."

"Why do you live here now?"

Bart gives the quiet smile again, half a second and then, it's gone.

"My family's from here," he says.

"Do you-"

"That's two questions." Bart frowns. "Actually, no, that's three questions. You're definitely cheating!"

"Technically, I answered two last time."

"Still a cheater." Bart points. "Next question, how'd Central finally find out about the Flash?"

Len rolls his eyes. "Everyone knows that story."

"I want to hear it from you. You were there."

"Fine." Len sighs. "Mick and I were getting tired of playing catch with a ghost. I'd heard Star Labs were working on experiments with cyclotron, something cold enough to slow particles even moving at accelerated speeds." Len winks. "After an introduction like that, hard to resist giving it a minor test run."

He can still remember it, too. The bright blue of the untreated chemicals, the trials and failures as he worked them into his cold gun. The speed, the chase, the...everything that his life has been sorely missing the past six years.

"We stole the cyclotron, made the cold gun, got Mick set up with a modified blow torch, and found our target."

Bart's eyes gleam. "Picture News."

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Sorry." Bart laughs. "It's just...my grandma worked there for awhile."

Len files that away for later, going back to his story. "Picture News. We wanted to make sure that when we faced the Flash this time, the whole world would know. So, we iced some reporters, set up a camera and waited. Flash shows up. Cold gun works beautifully. We get him frozen in his shiny yellow boots and broadcast to every television in Central before one of the news interns pulls the fire alarm and shorts out the gun's mechanics."

Bart smirks and Len glares. "It was a prototype. I hadn't had time to work out all the kinks yet."

"Guess you could say you jumped the gun," Bart asks innocently. "Too quick to the draw? Ooh, needed to chill out a bit?"

Len rolls his eyes. "I heard enough of the puns from him."

If anything, Bart just grins brighter.

"Anyway, the plan was a success overall," Len finishes. "The guns worked perfectly. Everyone knew that the Flash existed. And we made a clean escape by the time he worked out how to get out of the ice." He glances back once again at the statue. "It was...a good match."

Bart's grin shifts into a small smile.

"My turn," Len says. "Do you live with your family now?"

Bart hesitates.

"Come on, kid, you know the rules."

"I know, I know," Bart reassures, "that's just...a bit of a harder question than you think. I mean I don't really live with any one person. Not really. Not since I lived with my cousin. He was the best."

"Why don't you live with him then?"

"He died," Bart says shortly.

"Ah."

"It was years ago." Bart shakes his head. "I guess it's more like I don't like to stay in one place that long. It makes me antsy. So, like, yeah, I mean half the time I stay with...I guess he's kind of like my adopted grandfather? But, then, sometimes, that gets boring. So, I go to stay with friends or at the Tow-anyway, I just move around a bit. I like it better that way."

Len's not sure if that makes him feel better or not.

"Okay, my turn," Bart says hastily. "One more question, alright?"

Len lets out a slow exhale, already thinking out answers for old plans and narrow chases buried under memories Len hasn't thought of in years. He misses those years before Invasions and death rays snatched them away.

"Alright, Bart, ask your question."

"Do you miss him?" Bart's face goes abruptly serious. "The Flash. Do you miss him?"

Len stops.

The statue still standing above him, almost like it's waiting for the answer, too.

As if Len really needs to think about it.

"...yeah, kid. Yeah, I miss him."

Bart nods, looking satisfied.

"Last question, huh?"

Len thinks. The thing is there's so many questions he wants to ask Bart, so many answers that will make finding his paper trail so much easier. So many helpful questions. So, Len's not sure why he ends up asking what he does.

He clears his throat. "After you found out I was Captain Cold, why'd you come back the first time?"

Bart frowns. "I told you, you're-"

"Don't give me that you're not a bad guy crap." Len shakes his head. "You didn't even know me, then, and you're not enough of an idiot to trust every criminal who can hold a decent conversation. That first time. Why'd you come back?"

Bart looks down.

Len waits.

"I was curious," Bart says finally. "You know my cousin used to tell me stories about the Flash. Every day. Whenever things were rough. Stories about the Flash and the League and Gorilla Grodd and...and the Rogues." The kid gives a sheepish grin. "The ones with the Flash and the Rogues were always my favorite because it always seemed like….it never got too bad, you know? There were rules and challenges; but, they were fun and...well, it always seemed more like a game. Like everything would turn out okay." Bart shrugs. "I guess I just wanted to meet the other half of those stories."

Len swallows. "And what do you think now."

Bart hesitates again.

"I think that I like this better than stories."

ooooooo

Len stares.

"What do you mean you can't find him?"

Hartley huffs, pointing down at his laptop. "I'm saying that as far as a paper trail, 'Bartholomew Wallace Allen' doesn't exist. No birth certificate, no school records, no immunizations, not even a freaking library card. If any of it ever existed, someone's done the most thorough job of covering it up I've ever seen outside of career criminals."

Len frowns. "Are you sure you've looked everywhere?"

Hartley gives him a flat look. "No, Len, I earned doctorates in physics, biology, and engineering by being woefully incompetent at research."

"His family's from Central," Len mutters more to himself than Hartley. "Look up other Allens in Central and Keystone."

Hartley looks at him like he's insane. "It's Allen, Len! Why don't you just have me look up Brown and Smith while you're at it. There's thousands!"

Axel wanders up to lean over the back of the couch. "Maybe he's a ghost? You know someone the Flash couldn't save so now he haunts the Flash museum for all eternity. That would be cool."

"Ghosts don't eat pizza," Len answers in driest voice he can possibly muster. He turns back to Hartley. "What about other Bartholomew Allens. It's a family name."

"Already ahead of you." Hartley pulls up a new tab. "And you owe me big time because this one had me hack into the police database."

Half asleep on the recliner, Mick snorts. "As if you hadn't done that already."

Hartley doesn't deign to answer, already pulling up a picture of a blond man with a dorky smile and a bow tie. "Bartholomew Henry Allen, former CSI with the CCPD."

By now, the entire team is more or less looking down at the laptop or listening in.

Mark is the first to comment. "Looks like a nerd."

"It says here he held dual masters in chemistry and biology," Hartley says. "So, yes, 'nerd' would be a fairly adequate summary."

"Aww, I think he's kind of cute," Lisa coos. "Look at the little red bow tie! Adorable!"

"I could get a bow tie," Sam says quickly.

Len ignores them, looking hard at the picture. There is something of Bart there. Something in the eyes, the shape of the face. Something that makes Len think of an older version of Bart.

"Former," Len repeats. "Did he move?"

"He died," Hartley answers. "During the Invasion. Both him and his wife."

"Pull up a picture of the wife," Len orders.

A click and there's another picture beside the blond man, a woman with dark red hair and a mischievous sort of smile.

It's Bart's smile. Len knows it.

"Iris West-Allen," Hartley reports, "formerly of GBS News."

"How old were they," Len asks, leaning to look closer.

"What? When they died?" Hartley pulls up a mass obituary article. "Um, he was 35, she was 29. Why? Think they're related to your kid?"

"Not my kid," Len says, already thinking through the math.

Bart would've been roughly seven during the Invasion. The ages would work, maybe…

"Any kids?"

Hartley shakes his head. "No kids. They only got married four years before the Invasion."

That's not right. Len knows it. He can feel it. There's a link.

"Find her medical records," he says. "See if there were any adoptions. Anything out of the ordinary."

Hartley gives a put upon sigh, obediently typing away on the laptop.

Len waits.

Lisa leans next to him. "So, you find out who the kid's family is. What next, Lenny?"

"We see what he's involved in," he answers. "Find out what's wrong in the kid's life, fix it, and then move on."

"Move on?"

Len nods. "We're criminals, Lis'. It's not safe.

Lisa hums in that way she has where she thinks he's being deliberately obtuse but isn't going to call him on it.

"You should bring him here," she says suddenly. "Let us meet him."

"That is the worst idea you've ever had."

"You want us to find out what's wrong, right," his sister counters. "Lot easier to find out information when we know the target."

Len stares at her. "You want me to bring a fourteen year old kid to a renovated warehouse we're using as a base to bring down a crime family and a superhero."

"It's a very nice warehouse," Lisa says innocently. "Plenty of room and, really, Len, where's safer than with Central City's best gang?"

Axel perks up suddenly. "Bring him! I'm tired of being the youngest!"

"We're not getting him involved," Len says firmly.

Lisa laughs. "Lenny, we're investigating his family tree. I think we're already involved."

"Found it," Hartley calls out before Len can answer. "Nothing shady in her medical file. And, before you ask, nothing on his either. In fact….," Hartley turns the screen to Len. "Seven years ago, Bartholomew 'Barry' Allen was in a coma for a little over a year and Iris West was the anchor on her college's news station. Hard to hide a pregnancy when you're on the news every night or unconscious in a hospital."

Len frowns at the screen, explanations running through his head. "Other family?"

Hartley types it in. "Um, let's see. Her mom died when she was in college, dad a few years after the Invasion. One brother, Rudolph West-him, his wife, and one son. All dead in the Invasion. I'll send you the file. As for Barry Allen…," Hartley pulls back from the screen. "Oh, shit. Okay, wow."

Mick cracks an eye open. "What?"

"Mom died as a kid, father framed for the murder, spends twenty years in prison before son finally finds enough evidence to exonerate him." Hartley lets out a low whistle. "Picture News published a whole article on it. The guy's life reads like a crime drama."

Mark nods sagely. "And that's why you should never trust the CCPD."

"Does the Allen guy being a CSI still count as the CCPD solving it," Sam muses.

"No."

Hartley winces. "Looks like the guy's dad died a couple years ago, too. Cancer. Hmm, is it weird that I'm starting to feel sad for a bunch of dead people?"

"Maybe you're finally developing empathy," Sam comments.

"Perish the thought."

Lisa turns to Len. "Well, what do you think? Is there a link to your kid?"

Len stares down at the screen.

Barry Allen and Iris West-Allen. Rudolph and Mary West with their son, Wallace.

There is a link.

The problem is that, like with all things Bart Allen, any answer means ten more questions.

Len's fairly sure the kid's going to give him a permanent headache.

ooooooo

The Flash statue stares down at him as Len checks his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

It's Wednesday.

Around him, the museum is cold and quiet. Dead in a way that Len's not used to finding it, like the energy was sucked out.

Len checks his watch again, almost eleven, two hours after he first got here.

Bart's not here.

The kid's always here. Grinning or quiet or giving Len a heart attack, Bart always shows up.

Len glares up the statue and finds the Flash looking down at him, almost daring Len to do something just like the man himself did whenever he got an itch in his spandex that Len should be doing more with his life. That the Rogues should be more than villains.

"Yeah, Scarlet," he drawls, "because look where being a hero got you. Dead and in granite."

The kid's not coming.

Len kicks at the edge of the statue before turning to leave.

There's an explanation. There better be an explanation.

The kid's fine. Maybe he just forgot what day it is or lost track of time finding a new stupid card trick or...or… The kid's fine.

The kid better be fine.

He throws open the door to the warehouse with more force than is strictly necessary.

Mark looks up from his beer. "Yo, Len, check it out! Your guy's on TV."

"What?"

Len jerks his head up only to see news coverage of the Titans flying across the screen.

"There's a fire on the west coast," Axel says excitedly, eyes still glued to the television. "FEMA called in the Titans. Apparently, Impulse is on rescue. Think we'll actually get to see him?"

"No," Len says shortly and unreasonably annoyed. "Not on a rescue mission."

He doesn't bother looking to see Axel's pout instead grabbing the latest files on the Allens and Wests and sitting in his chair to glare at them.

Mick pokes at him. "What's got you in a mood?"

Len glares harder at the files.

"How's your kid," Sam asks.

Len finally looks up. "He's. Not. My. Kid."

Sam shudders and Lisa comes to stand in front of him, crossing her arms. "Don't bite Sam's head off just because you've got your head in your ass, Lenny. What happened with Bart?"

"Nothing happened to Bart." Len turns to the next page. "...he wasn't at the museum."

There's a long pause that prickles at the back of Len's neck.

"Well," Hartley starts, "he is a teenager. It's not like they're known for keeping a schedule."

Sam nods eagerly. "Yeah, he could've just forgot. Right?"

Bart's never forgotten before.

Len makes a noncommittal noise.

Mark waves his beer haphazardly. "Kid's fine, Len. Probably just hotwiring a sports car or spray painting a wall or whatever it is kids do for fun. Watch it. Next week, he'll show up and not even say anything about it."

"That's not like Bart," Len mutters.

Axel makes a face. "Can't Sam just find him in the mirrors?"

"It's not that easy. I need a place." Sam huffs. "I don't even know what the kid looks like."

Lisa hums. "Well, maybe you would if Len ever bothers to actually let us meet-"

"Lis," Len warns and his sister holds up her hands in surrender.

Axel's eyes light up. "Oh! I got it! Maybe the kid's a spy!"

"He's fourteen years old," Hartley scoffs.

"That's why no one would expect him!"

"Bart's not a spy," Len says. "He's just…."

He's just something.

An old file, far thicker than the previous one, lands in Len's lap along with his notebook.

"Here," Mick grunts. "Work on the Impulse stuff before you drive us all crazy worrying about a kid we don't even know needs worrying about."

ooooooo

Len is standing on the roof of the warehouse, taking in the general brightness that is Central City as he reviews everything they have on Impulse.

There's a creak as the door is edged open.

"I knew you'd be up here." Lisa sits down beside him, hanging her legs off the edge.

"It helps me think," Len says because it does, something about seeing the city from a birds eye view makes everything seem more malleable, manageable with the right plan and the proper amount of willpower.

He leans down to sit next to his sister.

She smiles at him. "Do you remember when we were little and you'd drag me up to our apartment roof every night to look at the stars? And when I asked you why, you'd tell me it was because every princess needed a tower."

Len nods. "I did it because Dad was too drunk to climb the stairs."

"I know; I figured that out later." She leans her head on his shoulder. "Why don't you want Bart to meet us?"

"You know why, Lisa," he says. "The Rogues weren't made for taking in lost kids."

Lisa pauses. "You can't really believe that. Can you, Lenny?

"What do you mean?"

"The Rogues." Lisa laughs to herself. "Honestly, Lenny. Not even taking in you, me, and Mick. We've got Mark, who we both know would've been killed by the cartels if he hadn't joined up with us first. Hartley, who's parents kicked him out barely after he turned eighteen. Sam, who had about a 50/50 chance of getting himself shattered to pieces as he did getting the mirrors to work. And Axel who-you know I love him-but has his head so far in the clouds it's lucky we found him before he got blown up with his own explosives."

"What's your point, Lis?"

"My point," Lisa says, "is that the Rogues have always been about taking in lost kids. We almost do it more than stealing."

Len frowns. "Bart's a bit younger than our usual recruits."

His sister rolls her eyes. "I'm not saying take him to rob a bank, Len. I'm saying invite the kid to dinner."

"Why are you so set on this," Len asks.

"Because you care about him. Is it really so crazy to think I want to help him, too?" Lisa shakes her head, standing up and dusting the gravel off of her jeans. "Len, if he really needs the kind of help you think he does, then you're not doing anything keeping him at arm's length."

Len stares up at her. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Then, let us help you. That's what the Rogues are about."

Len doesn't answer and his sister sighs.

"Fine, Len, fine, be your usual prickly self about it until you can admit one of us is right." Lisa looks out into the city. "Just ask yourself one thing. When you were a kid like Bart, is there anything you wanted more than to talk to someone that could understand?"

"I'll think about it," he says more to end the conversation than anything.

She smiles, half in exasperation. "You know, Lenny, I've known you my entire life and still I can't understand why you insist on keeping the best parts of yourself hidden."

ooooooo

Next Wednesday, Bart's back at the museum-whole, healthy, and undeniably alive.

Len doesn't know if he feels more relieved or annoyed.

The kid grins at him. "Hey, Len! You miss me?"

"Where were you?"

"Around." Bart shrugs. "Some friends of mine needed help."

"Friends, huh," Len says and, maybe, he's being paranoid but he immediately thinks of the Gotham scum trying to pull in kids as drug runners. "What kind of help?"

"The urgent kind," Bart answers brightly.

Len narrows his eyes.

"Kid," he grounds out. "You being safe?"

Bart laughs. "Is anyone ever totally safe?"

"That's not an answer."

"It's a stupid question."

Len glares. "Bart."

Bart gives a half a smile. "Trust me, Len, I'm safer now than I've ever been in my life. You don't have to worry about me."

As if that's going to do anything except make Len worry more.

"Hey, so, um," Bart says suddenly, running a hand through his wild hair, "I was thinking and, ah, I just kind of wanted to say thanks."

"Thanks," Len repeats skeptically.

"Yeah," Bart kicks at the ground with his perpetually beat up sneakers, "you know for...ah, showing up at an empty museum every week and, well, listening even when….," the kid waves a hand through the air distractedly. "It's just I know I can be a lot sometimes and I guess I probably don't make sense half the time; but, thanks for showing up anyway and listening and for….and for telling me stories about the Flash. I...I really appreciate those."

Shit.

"I'm sure you have other people who would listen, Bart," Len says, more as a last ditch effort.

"Well, yeah, er...I mean, yeah, definitely," Bart says and Len almost thinks he's going to be able to get away with it, "but, I mean this is a bit different ,you know. It's nice…," the kid blows a piece of hair out of his face, caught in a complicated expression. "It's just sometimes I get the feeling that most people keep expecting me to be….well, more like my grandpa and cousin. Or looking at me and wondering why I'm not. And that's not really fair to them because I'm never going to be like them. They were amazing. And, well," Bart shrugs, "at least, when I talk to you, I know you don't expect me to be. You understand why I can't be."

Shit. Len hates it when Lisa's right.

Len sighs heavily, pulling out his phone and typing out a quick message.

"Come on, kid," he mutters, slipping his phone back in his pocket, "let's get out of this stupid museum."

Bart rocks back on his heels, a brief and somewhat satisfying look of confusion flitting across his face. "You kidnapping me?"

Len rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Bart, I'm kidnapping you."

"Awesome!"

Weird kid.

Len walks ahead, leading a path through the bright parts of Central's commerce distract to the far less innocent parts of the city and, finally, to the unused factory warehouses.

Bart follows along happily, head turning this way and that like Len brought him to an amusement park instead of hunks of metal that always smell vaguely of kerosene.

"Bart," Len says dryly. "I feel like I should remind you that, in general, you should not follow people blindly through dark alleys and abandoned buildings."

Bart hums unconcerned. "Oh, I don't know, I'm a pretty fast runner."

"Not faster than a gun," Len points out just to be contrary.

The kid laughs. "Don't worry, I trust you not to shoot me unless you have a really good reason."

This is such a terrible idea. Len's going to regret this, he can feel it in his bones. It's not even that the kid won't get along with his team. No, it's the opposite. The Rogues are going to love Bart. And Len can already tell he's going to be the one who suffers from it.

He stops in front of the Rogues' renovated factory and leans down to pick the lock.

Bart watches him.

"You know," the kid says casually, "if you really did take me here to murder me, I at least want a last meal."

Len turns, hand on the door and sighs one last time. "You're not being murdered; but, given the occasion, I still think it's fitting to ask for last requests."

Bart grins. "This is because I beat you in the card game, isn't it?"

"You cheated."

"That's the point of the game!"

Len throws open the door instead of answering.

"IS THAT HIM?"

Bart's eyes widen. "Wait-"

Len only has time to smirk before Lisa all but grabs the kid and pulls him inside.

"Well, shit, Len actually did it." Mark calls back to the kitchen. "Hey, Sam, you owe me ten bucks!"

Bart is standing in the middle of the room, looking shell shocked, still in a way that means he's debating running when Sam sticks out his hand. "I can't believe Lis' finally convinced Len to bring you. Bart Allen, right? Sam Scudder, kid, we've heard a lot about you."

Bart takes the hand hesitantly. "About me?"

Len will admit. It is kind of great to see the kid be the one off balance for once.

"Oh, trust me," Hartley wanders over to smirk at Len, "our fearless leader practically wouldn't shut up about some kid he met at the Flash museum."

Ah, yes, and here is the moment that Len begins to regret it. He knew it would be here soon.

"...Oh?" Something clicks behind Bart's eyes. "Oh. Wait, seriously? I thought-," the kid turns up to Len. "The Rogues wanted to meet me? Like Bart Allen me?"

"Is there another you," Len deadpans.

Mick punches Len's shoulder. "Took you forever, Snart."

Lisa ignores them all, focusing on Bart. "Hey, honey, I'm Lisa Snart, the grump one's sister."

"You're Golden Glider," Bart says, sounding awed.

Lisa grins, all but preening. "Aww, Lenny, you didn't tell us he was a fan."

Len snorts. "You don't have to be a 'fan' to read a wanted poster."

"Wait," Axel pushes forward, looking down at Bart. "Do you know who I am?"

"Axel Walker, the second Trickster," Bart nods enthusiastically as he points to the rest of them. "Mick Rory, Heatwave. Mark Mardon, Weather Wizard. Sam Scudder, Mirror Master. Hartley Rathaway, Pied Piper." Bart grins wide enough for Len to think that maybe this wasn't a bad idea. "You're the Rogues!"

Hartley snickers. "So, he is a fanboy! Cute, Snart."

Len glares at him.

"My cousin used to tell me stories about all of you," Bart says, smiling up at Lisa.

"Yeah?" Lisa winks. "Your cousin had good taste."

"He's shorter than me!" Axel is practically bouncing in place. "He's younger than me and shorter! This is the best day of my life."

"That's so sad," Hartley mocks.

"Shut up!"

Bart's eyes are flying between all of them like he's watching a tennis match and Len almost feels bad for basically throwing the kid to the wolves. He'd feel worse if Bart wasn't….well, Bart.

"I'm at the Rogues hideout," Bart says to himself, so quietly only Len can hear. "I'm at the Rogues hideout. Dick's going to kill me." He lets out a little laugh. "This is so crash."

"Who's Dick," Len asks, keeping his voice low.

The kid blinks up at him before grinning, the manic excitement settling into Bart's usual enthusiasm. "Now, Len, that's a really mean thing to call someone! For shame!"

"Bart-"

"Wait! Wait!" Axel grabs Bart's hand, pulling him off towards the kitchen. "Come on, you're a fan-I can't believe I have a fan. I'm famous!-you've got to see my anti-gravity boots! They're the most epic things ever and I just finished upgrading them!"

"Axel," Mark calls, "don't blow the kid up the first night he meets us. That's a monthly kind of thing."

"You guys are the worst," Axel complains. He turns to Bart. "Don't listen to them. It's not going to blow you up. Probably."

Bart shrugs. "There are worse things."

Axel smiles triumphantly. "Exactly!

"Axel," Len warns.

"Sorry!"

Len wishes he regretted this more than he does.

When Bart finally gets pulled out to the kitchen, most of the other Rogues following behind to either stop or more likely watch the resulting explosion, Lisa comes to stand beside Len.

"I like him," Lisa says simply.

Len rolls his eyes. "Don't gloat."

"A lady never gloats, she relishes." Lisa's smile fades into something softer. "He's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

Lisa hums. "I'm not sure. I guess someone a little rougher around the edges like you and Mick used to be. Or colder and jaded like Hartley was when we first picked him up. That kid," she shakes her head, laughing a little, "he looks like a harsh wind could blow him down and he'd fall down, laughing. I don't know, he seems….sweet. Not what I expected."

Len smiles. "Lis', the one thing I know with absolute certainty about Bart Allen is that kid is never what's expected."

ooooooo

A/N: Thanks for reading! I will admit that I am very nervous about this story so, please, if you have the time, take a second to leave a comment and tell me what you think.