A/N: This one took a while. Like a week of writing and un-writing and hating myself for not being able to do a simple story. I'm kind of pissed I locked myself into doing Flash next when I had some pretty cool Green Lantern stuff bouncing around. Regardless, it's done. Now I can *finally* get back to Doctor Who.

Superman and the Flash

The problem with puberty, decided Wally West as his velocity hovered over the speed of sound, was definitely the super speed. Not the Speed itself, mind you. That was phenomenal. Freeing. Being Kid Flash was – well, he didn't know what he would be without it. Without helping people. Without the mentorship of his Barry. Without the release from what his life had been not a year ago. And, realistically, it was by far the best result of being struck by lightening that he could imagine. He wasn't going start railing against the world because he had wound up with the powers of a god instead of burnt to a crisp.

However, it was the inconsistency of it all. Hormones and superpowers seemed to have some serious disagreements. Sometimes Wally's brain would speed up while his body was doing things the normal speed. For upwards of an hour, which seemed like three weeks, Wally would be stuck in a body which could not adequately express the orders his mind was sending out. It was like being in a waking coma, near paralysis. Once it had happened during a test and he was stuck on problem thirty six for a relative day – five minutes real time – it turned out he was just as unable to do pre-caclculus no matter how much time he had to think the problem over. There was nothing to do but wait out his C+.

Sometimes his Speed would short out all together. Thankfully, it usually did this gradually, lest he wind up splattered on the pavement three thousand miles away from home. As it was, Wally found that, while he could usually hit the speed of sound consistently, he could only run fast enough to match his mentor's speed – somewhere between light and tachyon particles – for twenty-five minutes a day. And that was only if he had had a good night's rest.

Wally had asked Barry if he knew why his powers operated differently. Barry had had little to say on the matter. But then, Barry had been working five different cases simultaneously. Three murders for the Central City forensics, a Parademon was running amok in Gorilla City – where Wally had never been invited for some reason – and the Weather Wizard had taken it upon himself to rain out the Keystone Salamanders game. It may have been been a bad time. But then, by those standards, they were all bad times. Barry couldn't be in two places at once, not unless he accelerated his quantum standing – which was rarely worth the mess – but he could run back and fourth between up to seven situations fast enough to give the illusion. Barry was much better at handling the immediate, tactile situations before him – no matter how big or confounding – than he was at sitting down and thinking things through in the theoretical – no matter how important.

Barry was a good mentor on those occasions when Wally could match him at speed. It had been Barry who taught Wally how to run on water, create cyclones, and vibrate though solid surfaces – which Wally still couldn't do without permanently destabilizing matter. He was warm and validating and infectiously trusting in Wally's abilities; everything Wally's own father wasn't.

However, when Wally's time was up – when had to slow down – Barry had to keep going. People depended on him – lives were at stake. Wally still helped out, chugging along at sub-sonic speeds as best he could, but it was like the radio station had changed – Wally and Barry were on different wavelengths.

Thankfully, Wally didn't need to run much faster than the speed of sound to deal with an idiot like the Trickster.

"People of Central City!" boomed the distorted voice of the Trickster from every metallic surface within a hundred yards. The Ventriloquism Radius, Wally thought and rolled his eyes, weaving in and out of seven – whoops, eight – bubblegum traps that littered the street. He was going to have to hear every word that this lunatic decided to pontificate – that was the real crime here. Bank robbery was a small, manageable thing compared to being a loud-mouth. Wally should know, being a loud mouth as he was.

"I hope you're ready to laugh – all the way to the bank!" the Trickster boomed through a mailbox directly under where he stood. Wally cringed, at least his witty remarks were – well – witty – delightful some would even say. Stupid Trickster.

The Trickster himself stood in the air a hundred feet above the Bank of Central City. He wasn't flying, he was just standing. Air Shoes solidified the air directly under their wearer's feet in a way that did not cooperate with gravity, allowing the wearer to climb as high as he or she wanted in mid-air with no more difficulty than climbing stairs. If they didn't have little bells on them, Wally might have been jealous. Say what you wanted about the name Kid-Flash, but at least his costume didn't have stripes – or bells. His costume was actually totally awesome. It even came with goggles and friction-proof fabric.

Far above, the Trickster cackled his own terrible joke and began pulled out his Sparkle Gun, the second most annoying gun in his day-to-day arsenal. At least it wasn't the Rainbow Gun, Wally shuttered at the thought. Wally wasn't sure why Barry let these things go on as long as he did. Sure, no one ever got hurt when Barry was on the scene of a Rogue attack, but it also could last upwards of three minutes. It was as if Barry enjoyed the pageantry of the encounter. Wally didn't share the sentiment. Barry could indulge the Rogues' quirks but he couldn't talk to Wally for more than twenty-five minutes. Wrong day to try something, Trickster, Wally thought, The Flash isn't home.

Wally grimaced and put on his goggles, and prepared to boost. Honestly, the Trickster shouldn't be worth burning a minute of his precious super speed – that could be used to hang out alongside Barry – get some answers maybe – but if he didn't put this down fast, people could get hurt. The Sparking Gun may have had a dumb name, but it could still liquefy a person's eyeballs from three hundred yards.

The Trickster was still laughing as he cocked his gun. Through the metal surfaces on below, Wally could hear it warm up with a crackle. The Trickster began to says, "fools! You can never stop the Befuddling Trick-"

Then Wally stepped outside of Time.

Well, not really. But that was how it felt, coming into his Speed in full. Contrary to what many would have thought, it was not a hectic, manic feeling, moving at near light speeds. It was like the world slowed down to a stop. It was relaxing. You didn't even have to run fast when things were this slowed down. Though sauntering at the speed of light looked a bit silly – best to indulge in the image of a daring Super-Speedster. And it wasn't as if Barry or Wally ever got tired from running since they came into their powers. A run across the Atlantic to Africa took no more effort than standing up to refill your glass from the sink.

Everyone always thought Wally was a hot-headed impatient, and maybe that was a valid interpretation from the outside, but Wally didn't experience the world as everyone else did. Every syllable was drawn out, every pause an eternity. It was like waiting in line at the post office all day every day – and yet people wondered why sometimes he was short or quick to action.

But between moments, fulling utilizing his Speed? Well, that was nice. It was like the entire world was waiting for you to take your time. Was this what Barry had all the time? No wonder he always seemed so relaxed. No wonder he so rarely came up for air.

"," said the statue that was the Trickster, still a hundred feet in the air. A hundred feet in the air and still quite close to the side of the Central City Bank building. Wally shrugged. That was all he needed.

Wally ran towards the Central City Bank building at a mad dash that did nothing except psyche him up. What were an extra ten miles an hour when you had accelerated past human comprehension? As his foot hit the wall of the Bank, he ran up. Gravity did little to object. Wally could feel its tendrils searching him out, wanting to pull him down. But it was like running on water; as long as he kept moving, it couldn't catch him.

Without much difficulty, Wally ran a hundred vertical feet up the building until he was level with the Trickster, still hissing the middle of his own name and looking down, gun pointed towards the bystanders below.

Hoping he had enough momentum built up – it was hard to tell sometimes when everything slowed down – Wally jumped at the Trickster, plucking him from the air and – it turned out he did have enough momentum – hurdling him into the Central City Commerce Center, across the street. It was like punching a sleeping person. Too easy to be much fun, really. The thought of saving the random pedestrian from whimsical incineration would have to do in place of adrenaline.

Wally punched the Trickster in the jaw, forehead, pelvis, and chest, making sure to spread it out – no more than twenty punches in any one spot. He wouldn't feel it past that and the bruising could be life threatening if taken to the extreme. It was better just to –

Time sped back in.

What? How was that even – Wally slammed into the Central City Commerce Center. Hundreds of feet off the air.

"Waaaaaa," said the Trickster, splayed out in what had, a moment before, seemed like solid ground. Gravity lurched.

They plummeted.

Wally was going to die. Wally was going to die be cause of the Trickster.

Stupid puberty.

Then, just as suddenly as Wally's powers had fled, Wally wasn't falling anymore. What? Barry? But no, he wasn't shooting through the air like he did when Barry caught him. He was still.

Wally opened his eyes. Superman was holding him by his wrist. In his other hand, he held the Trickster, groaning, by the cape.

"Hello," Superman said, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about this meeting, "have you seen the Flash?"

–

"This is where I work after school most days," Wally said, heaving the iron screen up. He lead Superman into the garage. Only it wasn't Superman now. There was something he was supposed to call Superman now? Kent? Right. "Mister Kent," he added. Wally had changed into a yellow hoodie and jeans. He was just Wally. Superman had changed into a suit and glasses. He was just Mister Kent.

It had never occurred to Wally that Superman would have a secret identity like himself or Barry. Wally had to be Wally because he wasn't capable of being Kid Flash all of the time. Barry could barely keep his life together outside of his efforts as the Flash, despite the ability to run faster than light. And the only reason they really tried was because they had been these people before getting Speed – before they were Flash and Kid Flash. Wasn't Superman an alien? Wasn't he super all the time? Hadn't he always been so?

"No one else seems to be home," Superman noticed, looking around. Three half-finished cars stood up on scaffolding in the center of the room.

"Yeah," Wally said, embarrassed, "I can get through about four cars a day. So, eventually, Mister Bixby fired everyone else and just comes in mornings."

"Well that's," Superman paused, "enterprising of him."

"Oh," Wally walked over to a project Bixby had left for him, nothing more than a busted a/c probably. Which was good as his speed had barely kicked back in, "he's a total skeez. But he doesn't ask any questions about why I can fix so many cars in a day." Superman cocked his head.

"Do you think he suspects?" he asked.

"I think he thinks I'm an excellent mechanic," Wally answered and popped the hood of the pink corvette. Everything looked fine. "Good with cars. Probably thinks he's making a shrewd decision, keeping me all to himself."

Wally slammed the hood back down. He'd get to that later. Right now he was talking to Superman. The nice thing was that, when Wally's baseline speed had kicked back in and Wally's perception had snapped back to its normal levels, Superman had sped his own mannerisms and speech to match. It was like they were both records playing at double speed, but relative to one another, they were normal. It was a courtesy that Wally rarely experienced as from with Barry. He didn't want to waste the time on some skeez's cars.

"Do you eat?" he asked, walking to the garage's kitchen at a leisurely seventy miles per hour. He slid into the refrigerator. In the absence of his super-friction boots, it could hard to stop fully. Feeling foolish, he hoped Superman hadn't seen. If he had – and he probably had – Superman gave no notice.

"The carburetor's shot on this one," he called from the garage, before "Yes, sometimes."

"Want grilled cheese while we wait for Barry?" Wally asked, "he's hard to get a bead on, but he almost always checks in at five to see if I've burnt through my twenty-five minutes yet."

"Your what?" Superman – Mister Kent – poked his head into the kitchen.

"My twenty-five minutes," Wally repeated, turning on the stove and sighed. It always took so long for the electric stove to heat. "I can only run really fast for twenty-five minutes a day. The rest of time time it's all just faster-than-a-speeding-bullet stuff." Had that been rude? "No offense," he added.

"None taken," Superman smiled and looked at the stove. For a moment, his eyes were red. Then the burner was red. Hah, excellent. Superman didn't like to wait for grilled cheese either. "I'm actually quite a bit faster these days," he said, with a smile and sat at the kitchen table.

"Lucky," Wally commented as he put the oil on the pan, the pan on the burner, and got out the bread and cheese. "You know cars?"

"A bit," Superman said, "I used to help my dad with his truck. We kept it running."

"Yeah," Wally said, almost to himself, "that's what you have to do."

"Nothing like this," Superman said, as if a series of jalopys was something to be proud of.

"Oh," Wally said, moving the bread around in the pan with a spatula, "I'm not a very good mechanic. I just have more time for trial and error. Honestly, I just like figuring out the way things are put together." The grilled cheese scent began to waft through the kitchen. Wally's stomach clutched. He got hungry after using his Speed. Had he had enough to eat today? Was that why his Speed had almost gotten him killed?

"Like cars?" Superman asked.

"Like cars," Wally agreed, and then paused. Superman didn't want to hear him talk about his stupid problems. He was Superman. He saved the world daily. But he was looking at him so earnestly, like he was actually interested. "My powers too," Wally added, trying to sound casual.

"Oh?" Superman asked, prodding him to go on.

"Yeah," Wally began, "it's just. They don't make sense. I mean, before I was Kid Flash, back when I just thought 'wow, super speed' but then -"

"It's different when you're experiencing it," Superman finished for him, nodding. "I get that. I barely remember what it was like not being able to see sounds."

"Exactly," Wally went on, encouraged – had Superman not always been super? – "it's like, you think it's going to be all frantic pace and high energy – and, from an outside perspective it is – but internally, things slow down. And there isn't much to do but think. Like, my costume is friction-less. Yeah?"

"Yes, Barry said he cooked up a compound," Superman affirmed.

"But my hair isn't in the costume. It doesn't burn up," Wally said, smiling. He flipped the grilled cheese.

"Neither does mine," Superman pointed out.

"Yeah, but yours is probably Super-Hair, ten times more resilient than mortal hair. I tested this – my hair still burns. I can light it on fire. It should burn from the friction when I'm running. So it's not just running fast," Wally said and paused to put the first grilled cheese on a plate. He reached for more ingredients.

"Another thing is that I don't have to breath when I'm running. Like, my muscles and stuff still oxygenate. I mean I do breath, nut even if my muscles are going fast and I'm breathing fast, there should be a set rate at which blood oxygenates. Chemically, my blood shouldn't be able to oxygenate faster even if I'm breathing faster. At some point while I'm using my Speed, I should suffocate and die," he finished, more excitedly than he had meant.

Superman cocked his head, smiling.

"But I don't! Not to mention, it doesn't wear me out to run around the world," Wally went on. "My muscles don't get tired. But I still get tired when I'm not using my Speed. If I try my best to not use my Speed, to just run, I can run a mile, sure, but I'll be sweating at the end. I'll be worn out. My eyes can get tired from reading a book at normal speed, but when I use my Speed to read, it's like pure information absorption – it doesn't last, but it's fast and instantaneous." Wally was rambling, but for the moment, it was just good to have someone to listen.

"What are you getting at?" Superman asked, frowning at the stove of the ratty kitchen.

"Well, and Barry – the Flash, sorry – doesn't pay this much mind, but I think that Barry and I haven't been changed at all by our accidents." Superman's eyebrows raised, but he waited for Wally to go on.

"I mean, you're Superman. You have organs or something processing Sunlight and turning it into -" Wally gestured excitedly towards Mister Kent.

"It's like Superfood. Food your body can break down and turn into power – naturally," Wally said. He was getting excited. Was he unconsciously using his Speed? He had to be careful giving reports in class for this very reason. Especially in things he was interested in.

"Sure," Superman conceded.

"But with us, we still have all the same organs. My eyes as far as I can tell, are still normal human eyes. My mom has never gotten any strange questions when I get check-ups. But I can see when I'm running near the speed of light. That shouldn't be physically possible. Leaving behind the physics involved, my irises shouldn't be able to process the information. Everything should redshift because I'd be going the same frequency as anything. And if the light is moving but the other things -" Wally was definitely ranting. And the second grilled cheese was – well, not burnt – overdone. He spatula-ed it onto a second plot. "Do you want ketchup?" Wally asked, thoroughly sheepish.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Mister Kent said. He got up and took the burnt grilled cheese for himself. Then he opened the fridge to retrieve the ketchup, sitting down at the table. Wally joined him.

"Sometimes I get excited," Wally said, finally, not touching his grilled cheese – he had embarrassed himself in front of Superman – idiot. Mister Kent just smiled.

"Well," he began, "you were speaking at 2000 words per minute, but I think I caught most of it. It's not often I get to practice my Super-Hearing on that magnitude. You'll have to forgive me for not participating more. It was taking some effort to keep my mannerisms in sync. Otherwise I would have looked like a statue."

"Ah," Wally rubbed the back of his head, "thanks."

"It's no problem," Superman assured him, taking a piece of his grilled cheese, dabbing it into his ketchup, "so what do you think the answer is? If you weren't altered by your accidents, what happened?" Wally smiled, but tried to contain it better this time.

"Well," Wally began, hesitating, "I – think – and I haven't been able to talk with Barry about this but – "

They were interrupted by a crimson lightening bolt which streamed into the kitchen faster than thought.

"مرحبا الي ،" said Barry Allen, the fastest man alive, "مرحبا سوبرمان، ماذا تفعلين?" Wally stared. Barry stared back, confused. Superman just waited. After a moment, Barry shook his head in realization.

"Sorry," Barry said, grinning but not sitting down, "I just learned Arabic three minutes ago. Grodd's Hoard was trying to destabilize the – it doesn't matter. There were just a lot of authorities to inform. Paperwork to – probably crowding up my language centers a bit. It'll be gone in a moment. Ah. There. Funny thing, speed reading. Certainly a different language to think in, shame I never hold onto them long enough to dream in –" Barry shook his head.

"Superman," he went on almost immediately. Why are you in Keystone? I live in Central."

"I know," Superman said, having another bite of grilled cheese. Wally started on his own. It was good if a bit cold. He considered attempting to vibrate the molecules, but he didn't feel like risking the explosion. "Wally was there taking care of things, he brought me here to wait for you."

"Good," Barry smiled, "though in the future you can just leave a post-it on my back-door. What is this about?"

"The Titans," Superman said, casually.

"Oh," Barry said brightening. "Most definitely. You talk to Diana?"

"I'm waiting until I have more to -"

"Of course," Barry said waving the rest away. "Wally do you want to -"

"Speed is on the fritz," Wally said through a mouthful of sandwich. Barry looked disappointed. Wally tried not to.

"I'll check back tomorrow," he said, simply, "say hi to your aunt for me."

"I will," Wally said.

With a flash, Barry was gone.

Wally said nothing for a long time, just ate his sandwich. Then, suddenly, there was no more sandwich. Stupid Speed – he was still hungry.

"When do you get off?" Mister Kent asked.

"Whenever I want," Wally replied, "I have a key to lock up. I usually stay until 11. It's … well it's better here. I have a cot in the back too." Superman didn't say anything to that, just nodded.

"You're a good kid, Wally," Superman said, nodding, "you have it together more than I did at your age."

"I have non-working powers, a mentor who can't slow down to mentor me, a crummy job, and -" Wally stopped. He wasn't going to talk about that. Not with Superman.

"When I was fifteen," Superman said, mock whispering, "I burnt down my school's gym."

"No way," Wally said, laughing, "with heat vision?"

"Much harder to get a hold of than most people think," Superman smiled, sheepishly, "now, tell me about this theory of yours."

"Oh right," Wally leaned back, "the Speed Force." He rolled his eyes at his own name for it. "You don't want to hear about that. You found Barry, you don't have to stick around anymore. I understand." He did, that was the worst part.

Superman got up. Wally's stomach sank.

"I have time. More grilled cheese?"

A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Let me know. Feedback helps me grow.