Rae: And a howdy-doody guys! It's been a while! Well, I'm back with another story. This one is the parallel story to 'Lost and Found', told from Wally's POV. I hope you like it, it was a bugger to do :P

Aaaand, as much as I wished I did, I don't own Justice League. T.T

I can read people pretty easily. I can tell from a simple twitch of the lips whether they're happy, sad, angry or even vexed. I can tell when people are lying because their body gives off so many clues. So why did I find it so difficult to read Damien Crowe?

I've no idea why. My mission was simple; scout out and keep a watch on Crowe. That was pretty easy. There was a place for rent near the guy's house, and it's being paid for courtesy of whatever funds our whole fricking organization. Anyway, I just pretended to be the new guy in town and was going round to see the neighbors, find out what living here was like et cetera, et cetera. I knocked on his door, and he answered, and I asked him about the town and the street and stuff. He seemed quite friendly, invited me in for an iced tea and all. We got to talking, but what bothered me the entire time I was chatting was that I couldn't tell what he was feeling. Was he happy to have someone new around? Was he annoyed at my presence? I just couldn't tell. It unnerved me somewhat, I'll tell you that now.

When I left he told me to come anytime if I ever needed anything. I shot him a grin and told him I would, thanks for the offer. Wandering back down the street, I was aware that my legs were itching to start running around. Of course I couldn't, that would defeat the whole purpose of having a secret identity. Quite frankly, the media attention I get as Flash is more than enough for me without Wally having to get it as well. Kind of odd for someone with a very social and attention-seeking disposition like mine, wouldn't you say? Yeah, I can't figure it out either.

For the next few days I lay low, getting to know the town and the streets and stuff, just in case anything went bad and then I'd know my way around. I found that by going slower I got a better map in my head. I suppose when you have a creative mind like me then it's easy to picture things in your head. Like how I picture Batman under his mask.

Hmm. There's a random little thought. Not unpleasant, though. I'll readily admit to liking Batman. A lot. But I doubt he'll ever see me as much more than the annoying little brother of the Justice League. Ha. That's a good rank name. I always imagine him with dark hair. Suits his personailty, I guess. Blue eyes, I think. No, definately blue eyes. And a personality that's not as gruff without that cowl on. When he's....whoever the fuck he is under that mask.

Anyway, I digress. I spent a good deal of time outside Crowe's house as well. I made it a pretense I was only hanging around for the park that his house backed onto. I guess that wasn't all a lie; the park was one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. It was traced by trees and bushes and other plants that looked so alive despite the dry heat. An adventure playground sat slap-bang in the middle of a section of soft, worn, multi-colored tarmac that made up the ground. A see-saw, a merry-go-round, two swing sets (one for older children and one with those booster seat thingies), a slide and climbing frame that included a wobbly bridge, a spinning tube, monkey bars and a running paddle, one of those things where you hold onto handles and run on the top of the barrel. Kind of like when you see people running on top of barrels in cartoons.

The park surrounding the playground was extraordinarily green and lush, and apparently full of wildlife; even as I watched one day a couple of rabbits ran swiftly across one of the many criss-crossing stone walkways. The walks all lead to a central pond, I found. Some walks were longer than others, and took you round the various parts of the park. My favorite was the eucalyptus trees walk. They always smelt wonderful. The pond itself was pretty big...I reckon about 100 meters in width and then 150 for the breadth. I've no idea how deep it was. I didn't fancy jumping in and finding out.

Really pretty town is Findlay, all in all. The stores aren't half bad either. I found a game store, a really nice-looking café with cheap prices, a DIY store, an electronics store and a huge library and bookstore next door. I decided it was definately a place I could get used to living in.

'Course, I never really got that chance, did I? I went back to Crowe's and asked him about the local colleges and schools and stuff, and what classes they held. Things like that. He told me that Owen's Community College did several night classes, or there were loads of day classes over a couple of semesters that I could sign up to do. He gave me a few names, numbers and addresses and stuff, and I went outside to look them through. They actually looked really interesting. I'd've loved to do some of them, but life's never that giving, is it? I sat myself down on my favorite bench and shuffled through the papers. It was halfway between Crowe's house and the park path that started next to it. It was the perfect spot to observe both the park and Crowe.

It was almost right after I'd got off the line to the Watchtower a couple days later to tell them nothing new in developments that it all spiraled downwards so fast I couldn't keep up. I was sat outside on my bench, eyeing the house I'd been assigned to watch over. So little had come up, and I'd never seen him toe the line at any time. In fact, he seemed to keep well away from it. I honestly don't know what came over me, but I started to feel really tired. My guard dropped, and that's when I felt something slam into my neck.

It hurt, but only briefly. See, I'm wary about tranquilizers. My blood pumps so much faster round my body than the average person's does, so the tranq works hella faster. I mean, I have such high blood pressure, any normal person's vessels would have burst instanteously. Internal haemhorraging. That's what it's called. I've seen enough of it to know. I am, after all, in the forensics department. Poisons I don't have to worry about, my body seems to naturally detoxify them far faster than they can take effect.

I remember looking back to see the totally cool and impassive face of Damien Crowe staring at me, and thinking that I still couldn't read him, before everything went black.

--

The first thing that crossed my mind when I woke up was that my head really really hurt. I mean, it felt like someone was trying to ax it open or something. I groaned and tried to hold it to stop the pounding, but that's when I discovered my wrists were bound above my head. Hmm. Not the most comfortable of positions. So then I tried to move my legs from the side of me to under me. And I screamed. They hurt. A lot. Made my head feel like someone was trying to blow my brain away with just their breath. Whatever they'd done to my legs, it hurt worse than hell. The pain that shot through my body coupled with everything else - the shock, the confusion, the mother of all headaches and so on - nearly made me sick, but I had enough will to push it down.

But that's when it sank in. My legs. My legs were busted. My power, my life. Without my legs, I'm about as useful as a broken toaster, and just as helpless. I didn't like it, one bit. I tried to vibrate my wrists out of the manacles encasing them, but I simply didn't have the energy to do more than give myself a friction burn. Which only added to my extreme discomfort.

Understatement of the year.

Anyway, I settled down and decided to try and think of a way out of this mess, but with my head still woozy and achy, and the dizziness that kept threatening me, I found that perhaps that wasn't the best idea ever. So instead I took a look around my very homely accommodation. A square room. Concrete walls. A large metal door in the other corner. A drippy ceiling. Manacled wrists. I was in a fucking cell.

The only one who knows how much time passed before someone came in is God, but it must have been a good 3 or 4 hours. Three men entered. I recognized the man in the middle of the little procession as Crowe, and gave him an impassive look. The man at the front introduced himself as Naduk Howell, and the one at the back was Stark. I remember 'Iron Man' being the first thing that crossed my mind. It was shoved aside immediately though; Robert Downey Jr was way cuter.

Howell was good-looking, but had a rough complexion. Scars marred his neck and jawline, which was heavier than one would expect for the slimmish face he had. Close-cropped muddy-blond hair gave him a soldier's look, and a frown twisted his lips. Stark, on the other hand, was heavier. Still slim, but you could tell he had muscle. His physique was a little like mine, I suppose. But it seemed that Stark had been absent the day good-looks were handed out as freebies. A heavy-set jaw, shallow cheekbones and a grim lip-curl. Lovely, darlin'... just hold that pose....damn, broke the camera. That kind of thing.

"Why were you spying on me?" Crowe's voice was pleasant, but had an underlying tone of anger. I scowled at him.

"I wasn't. Dude, I'm new to the neighborhood, how the fuck would I know you?" I jangled my chains. "Is this how you greet all your new neighbors?"

"You were sat outside my house day after day, staring at my house and then the park. You were spying on me. Who for and why?"

I hated how raspy my voice sounded. "I wasn't fucking spying, man! That park happens to be a beautiful park and I was envious of you having the house right next to it! I mean, I'd love to have your house."

Crowe eyed me, apparently deciding whether or not I was telling the truth. He must have settled on the idea that I wasn't, because he turned on his heel and told Howell to bring me to the interrogation room. A cold feeling settled in my gut; I really wasn't going to like this, was I?

--

I just hate it when I'm right about something bad. I was in so much pain that I didn't let out a sound when they literally threw me against the wall of my cell, making me land awkwardly on my busted legs, and then chained my hands roughly up again. I felt vaguely proud of myself when they left; I hadn't told them anything, despite what they'd done to me. I could feel the precise scalpel cuts on my torso and arms seeping blood into my already ragged shirt, but I was a fast healer. They'd be gone in a couple hours Although, it may be longer than that. I've never had cuts that go straight to the bone before.

Then a thought struck me through my haziness; if I was such a fast healer, why weren't my legs getting any better? They felt exactly the same as that many hours earlier. They should at least start to feel better by now. But they weren't. Looking slowly up so as not to aggravate the headache I had, I tried once more to vibrate my wrist out of the manacle. Again, all I did was give myself a friction burn. I just didn't have the energy.

For the first time in my life, I felt totally and utterly helpless. I couldn't stand let alone run, my energy was sapped, I felt sore, my head was pounding, the League had no idea I was missing and I had no idea what was in store for me apart from more torture. I did the only thing my hazy mind came up with, and that was scream. I screamed loud and long, straining against my bonds before slumping back when my voice broke. I took no heed of the tears slipping down my cheeks. I just wanted out of here.

--

It became a daily occurance, those "interrogation" sessions. At first, it was all I could do to not scream, to not break down and let myself go. But then I started thinking about the League; my friends and the only family I have. And Batman. God, above all things I wanted to see what he looked like under that mask. I concentrated on what I pictured his face to be like, his voice without the channeled harshness of Batman in it and what his bared fingers would feel like tracing my cheek.

Yeah okay, shut up. Like that would ever happen. But seriously, it's the only thing that got me through it. Even just thinking about Batman, how strong his presence was and his voice in my head berating me for being weak, was enough to give me the will power to not say a thing. I'd show him how strong I could be.

The knife slid into my torso again, making me tense up even more than I already was. "Why were you spying on me? Who do you work for?" Crowe's rough snarl came at me again, and I gritted my teeth and spat out some excess water from their earlier drowning attempt before replying.

"Has your memory bank got a leak in it or did God forget to give you a brain at all?" I gasped out. "I don't know how many...." I hissed a quick intake of air when the knife began another slicing act. I could tell they'd put a mild poison on it; the major stinging gave it away. I wasn't worried about that. "...many more times I'm going to have to tell you before it gets through that thick head of yours. I. Wasn't. Spying!"

Oh yeah, Bats would be proud. Crowe and Howell, apparently, weren't. The former leaned into the latter and said something quietly in his ear. Howell smirked and nodded, and Crowe left. The stocky man walked over to me, leaning down until his face was a mere 3 inches from mine.

"You'll do nicely, I think," he said softly, an eerie smile twisting his lips. "I reckon my clients will get a fair bit of....enjoyment out of you." At that, he pulled away and inclined his head to Stark, who'd been watching the procedure in silence like he always did, to take me back to my cell.

--

Honestly, if it wasn't for the League invading my thoughts, I'd've gone stir crazy long ago. Who knows how long I've been here; I stopped trying to count days. They've stopped the interrogations now. Guess they realized they ain't getting anything outta me.

So it startled me, after not hearing so much as a clanking pipe for God knows how long, when the door opened, and a familiar silhouette shadowed the door. He was alone, this time, so I shot him a dirty look.

"What do you want, Stark?" I asked, dangerously. He didn't answer me, just stared at me as he let the door close behind him. It was kind of unnerving, but I refused to let it show. "I asked you a question. What do you want? Another torture session? I can take it. I haven't got anything to hide." My voice was getting lower the more annoyed I got at his lack of reaction.

He didn't say anything for a minute, just walked up to me and seemed to study me from several different angles. There was a 'chink-thunk' as the manacles binding my wrists were taken off. "Yes, you'll do. Howell has an excellent eye, as usual." He had an accent I couldn't quite place, and he whistled his 's's more than a normal person would. "I want you to meet somebody."

Moving back to the door, he opened it to admit someone else. Well, 3 someones actually. And I really didn't like the way they were looking at me.

"That him?" One of them asked, and I could tell the Southern accent immediately.

"Yes." Stark kept his answer blunt. "He is yours for the next hour." With that he left, shutting the door and then - oh Lord no - bolting it. He locked the fucking door. With me in here. Alone with a bunch of weirdo strangers who were now grinning at me in what I could only describe as a very, very lecherous way.

And then it hit me. Like when GL whacks me over the head for a stupid comment or question, only like, a thousand times harder. I knew what this place was. I knew what Howell was. And I knew why these men wanted to be alone with me.

Human trafficking. That was all I could think right then. I was part of a trafficking business, except I was the merchandise. I attempted to scramble away from them, but the pain from trying to move my legs made me gasp and give up my efforts almost immediately. One of the men cackled at my vain struggles.

"Think he's a virgin?" He asked, which made me still and tense immediately. I wasn't, but only in the normal sense. In terms of...well, what they were talking about, yes I was.

"Hope so. He was a lot of money." The first man I saw spoke again. His articulation was stronger than the others'.

"Let's find out." The third man grabbed my shoulder and wrenched me round to face him, and he whistled. "Well even if he ain't, he's still a beaut. Where does Naduk get them from?"

"Not sure I wanna know, but he's a genius either way." A voice from directly behind me made me jump, right before I felt a hand sliding up my back and attempting to take my ragged shirt off. I'd be damned if I was going to consent to anything, so I clamped my arms down and thrust my elbows backwards. I caught him in the stomach, I think, because he suddenly fell backwards with a loud 'oof'. There was some satisfaction in that. "Damn, got a little spirit in him," he said, though his voice sounded slightly heavier. Though from the fall or desire, I wasn't sure.

"Good. I don't like them completely broken." The first man ran a finger down my side, causing me to shudder involuntarily. His smirk widened. "I like to do that myself. I think we're going to have fun, boys."

I just glared at them. No way in hell was I going to make this easy.

--

By the time the three men were done, I was so, so sore and in so much pain. My legs really hadn't benefitted, and I could feel several bruises starting to form in various places. Violated, was the only word I could think of to describe myself at that moment. I didn't even attempt to resist when Stark came to chain me back up. I just turned my head to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood. Some of it, I entertained, wasn't mine. If I say so myself, I put up one hell of a struggle, and had bitten them really hard several times. Hard enough to draw blood.

At the same time, it disgusted me. For good measure, I spat again. This wasn't going to end any time soon, was it?

Honestly, I can't even begin to describe how I was feeling afterwards. The pain was kind of expected, considering they'd all had their way with me in one form or another, but emotionally? Turmoil. I was disgusted, horrified, numb, helpless, regretful, angry, distraught....and yet it didn't seem to affect me externally. I just looked blank, broken.

But I was far from broken. It added grim amusement to that list, thinking about what they'd said. They didn't like their toys broken, because they liked to do it themselves? Ha. Let them try.

It's the fact that I'm not strong like Superman, or overly smart like Bats or J'onn that I'm always trying to prove myself. During that incident with the Justice Lords, I saw how much they'd fallen apart without their Flash. Their Wally. Because I, to all intents and purposes, am the glue that binds everyone together. I am the one that takes the brunt and keeps standing upright. If you look at it like that, I'm stronger than any of them.

I'm not trying to make myself out to be self-centered here, and if I am then I apologize, but it's what I've come to conclude during my time in the League. Emotionally, I'm the most stable and unequaled. I never realized until recently how much my one-liners or my smiles affected people. It's like I'm a source of comfort for them or something. I don't know how to describe it.

Regardless, it was that idea of being the most stable and relied-upon Justice Leaguer that gave me the strength I needed. I was going to get through this, and the League would come for their 'little brother' and rescue me. I knew they would. After all, Batman would be turning over every rock and draining every ocean to try and find clues as to my whereabouts. He's a detective. The world's greatest. He'd find me.

I hope.

--

"I've been hearing some...complaints from your servicers," growled Howell, grabbing me by the neck of the over-sized bedraggled shirt I had on and hoisting me up against the wall behind me. I winced but didn't say anything at the crack to my back and the pain shooting through my legs.

"Really, now." I was pleased at how calm my voice sounded. "I wonder why that would be."

"You have one month to sort yourself out, boy," he snarled, dropping me. I couldn't help a whimper at the jolt, but glared at him with everything I had. He seemed disappointed and angry I still had this much spunk left in me. Well, here's a lesson for him; we Wests are not quitters, whatever else people may think of us.

"Or what?" I snapped back, glowering at him. "I'm not doing this voluntarily. I'll keep fighting and you'll never break me."

Howell's eyes narrowed as he back-handed me. I kept my head facing sidesways, but my gaze never strayed from his. "Or you'll be sold, boy. And you won't like that. At all." He swept out, clanging the door shut behind him, and I released a breath. Sold? I would be sold? Fuck, now I really was in a pickle. I lowered my head and stared at the floor, before squeezing my eyes shut and praying to whatever God was out there that Bats would find me. Man, he had to.

--

You have no idea how much of a relief it was when my cell door burst open and torchlight flooded the room, making my vision go blurry and swirly, and an unfamiliar voice called, "I've got another one here!". I just knew I was being rescued, and I couldn't help it; I burst into tears. About 3 more people entered the room, and I felt someone rubbing my back gently while my manacles were removed. It felt good, calming, even.

Somewhere in the rabble of background chatter, noise and sirens and the hum of whoever was rubbing my back's voice, someone swore and said something about my legs. The person next to me - a female paramedic, I noted vaguely - bit something out worriedly and then turned back to me.

"What's your name, love?" Her voice was soft, balmy. I felt myself relax slightly before rasping out, somehow, "Wally."

"Wally? That's a lovely name. I've always liked that name." She sent me a reassuring smile, which I caught in my adjusting vision. I ventured at giving her a weak one back. "Wally, we're going to have to give you a local anaesthetic for your legs. They look really painful. It will take away that pain, okay?"

I could feel said appendages throbbing, aching. I nodded, and felt a small prick in my skin before my legs started to go blissfully numb. At last, they weren't painful anymore. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and my sight came back more. My hearing sharpened up again. I shifted as much as I could to give two of the paramedics an easier time lifting me up between them.

What? It's not like I was going to be walking anywhere.

Speaking of which...I looked down at my legs properly for the first time since they'd been broken. I never got a proper look at them, and I nearly retched at what I saw. Bone was clearly visible through pierced and torn skin. Shards were sticking out and not in place, which explained the lack of healing. My power couldn't work if my body wasn't set right. From the amount of time I guessed had passed, it would be several months before I was even attempting to walk again, let alone run. Even with my speed-healing.

That wasn't all of it, though. Muscle tissue was missing, I could see where it had once been. My kneecaps were either really really really badly battered, or smashed, and it looked like a few of the wounds had gone septic. Yay for blood poisoning, I thought sarcastically. Man, I'd seen some gory stuff in my time, but seeing it on myself is a whole lot different.

As I came out of the building into an evening sunshine, I spotted a very familiar figure directing people and handing over girls and a boy or two to the paramedics. I couldn't help but break out into a grin when he looked my way, and his eyes widened behind that cowl.

I knew it. See? He came for me. He rescued me.

I was taken to the back of an ambulance, and the woman who'd soothed me before sat next to me. "Wally?" She started hesitatingly. "My name's Jean, Jean McDonald. I'm going to have a look at your legs, okay? I need to see the extent of the damage." I shrugged to show I didn't mind, and she grabbed a couple others passing by to help her put me onto a bed.

What she did exactly, I'm not sure. I found her constant talking was very comforting, and I was so fucking tired. I feel asleep soon after she began her examination, and woke with a start when she shook me gently awake. "You okay?" She asked, and I nodded and sat up, rubbing at an eye that didn't seem to want to stop twitching.

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" I winced at how rough my voice sounded. To be perfectly honest, I was totally parched. Jean seemed to recognize this, and told me to wait for a minute. I did as told, and she came back with a steaming mug of something. I didn't care what it was, it was warm and wet. Sloshing some of it down, I felt better instantly. The heat seemed to bloom through my body, going from easing my headache to warming my internal emotional core. I sighed and gave her a smile. She gave a wan one back.

"Wally, about your legs..." She wavered, then seemed to compose herself. "Honey, we're not sure you'll ever walk again."

I dropped my mug, not caring about the mess I made, and whipped my head up to stare at her, not sure I'd heard right. "What?!"

"I'm so sorry. The damage to your legs is incredibly extensive. Someone obviously really wanted you to stay there." She started rubbing my back again in sympathy, but I'd just gone numb. If I couldn't walk, I couldn't run. If I couldn't run, my life was gone. It's like part of my being had been mercilessly ripped away with those words. I'd never run again.

"No..." I whispered. Tears traced down my cheeks, but I didn't notice. "Everything...it's all gone. All gone."

"Wally?" Jean looked at me uncertainly, but I still stared at the floor. "My life! Running! They took it from me!" I cried violently, and broke down. There was little else I could do. I couldn't run, probably never would again, and my emotions were running wild and unfocussed. I was a wreck. No emotional control, no superspeed...and the League didn't even know my real identity. Seriously, could it get any worse?

--

It was a while before I calmed down again, but when I did Jean gave me a jumper that was at least two sizes too big and another of those warm drinks and left me with my thoughts. I cupped my hands around the mug, letting it warm my fingers. A couple minutes later I heard someone come walking towards me and I looked up, presuming Jean was coming back.

What I didn't expect was Batman to be standing there. He couldn't know, surely. Could he? I masked my surprise and flashed him a small smile. "Thanks for the save," I said. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly.

"What did they do to you?" Oh, how I had missed that gruff voice. I could've melted into a puddle of relief when I heard it. Thank God this wasn't some dream.

"Take your best guess," I replied, blowing gently on the steam rising from my mug and taking another sip of the drink inside. Whatever it was, it was good. Sweet.

It was a few seconds before he spoke again, but this time more sharp and angry. "What did they do to your legs?" At that, my hands starting shaking slightly, and my indifferent mask fell away all too easily. Emotions I'd managed to gain some kind of control over welled up again.

"They...busted them, did something to them. The paramedics say I may never walk again, and I won't ever run again. Running was my life." I made a strange noise, somewhere in between a hiccup and a sob. "It's my life, I love running. They took it away from me." I felt the ambulance lower slightly as Bats sat next to me.

"What's your name?" That simple, humaine question coming from the Dark Knight himself forced my swollen sorrow back down to be replaced with surprise and slight embarrasssment that I'd nearly lost it again in front of him.

"Wally."

"Bruce." He looked at me with that piercing gaze of his, searching, when I whipped my head up at that. Bruce? Seriously? His name was Bruce? I studied what little I could see of his face. Yeah, that name suited him. I liked it. A lot.

"Bruce?" I liked the feel of it rolling off my tongue. "That's... your real name?" I dropped my gaze back down to my mug when I found myself staring longer than necessary.

"Yes." A pause. "You can come with me, you know." That pulled me away from my drink for like the third time in the space of 5 minutes. "Eh?" Was my intelligent reply.

"To the Watchtower. I have medical training, and our equipment's more advanced than the hospital's. There's a greater chance you'll run again."

"Seriously?" I felt something blossom in my chest, something excited, happy. Hope. Definately hope. I might run. I could be Flash again!

"No promises, but there's a better chance."