"I'll be fine," he'd told them, waving. He knew he couldn't hide the pain in his eyes, but he could make it seem like he was hiding less than they thought. He was exhausted, that was all. Why wouldn't he be? He just needed to go home and rest and he'd be good as new, they didn't need to worry.

Black Canary had wanted to talk to him, her and Miss Martian both, but their quiet questions were too much and he waved them off with a forced laugh and managed to put them both off until the next day. They looked concerned but everyone looked concerned, and how could they worry about him when everyone else were the ones who needed help?

They had gone back in the Bioship, the whole team-minus-one, and Grandpa Barry had just stared outside the whole time, completely blank, but he took Bart's hand when he offered it. Jaime had stood beside him, and they forced strained smiles at each other – they had won, after all, they had saved the world – and he did his best not to look in the back, the room that Ship had built for the occasion so there would be some privacy. He could still hear Artemis crying though, her face buried in Nightwing's shoulder as he clutched at her shoulders like he was afraid she would disappear too.

They'd insisted on taking him home, which was probably good, because he was too exhausted to run any more, and Jay met him at the door, his eyes red and wet. Joan was inside, and she swept him up in a hug without saying anything.

"Do you need anything to eat?" she asked. She always did, she was like a grandmother, worried that he was too thin, too small, and he never turned her down normally.

"Maybe later," Bart said, smiling at her. "Right now I just want to sleep. Been running all day."

"All right," she said, petting his hair in a fruitless attempt to make it stay down. "You just let me know when you're ready, I'll warm it up for you."

"Thanks," he said, and hugged her again, and Jay, before climbing slowly up to his room, his legs like lead.

When he didn't come down hours later, they talked in hushed voices downstairs. They went upstairs, but the light was off when they opened the door to his room, a small figure huddled under the blankets. They ate the dinner, most of it, but Joan could always make more. They washed the dishes, checked again. Went to bed.

Morning came and he was still asleep. Joan cooked breakfast, big servings of everything she could find, pancakes and sausage and eggs and cereal and a lot of toast. They ate. Upstairs was still silent.

"Bart?" Jay called quietly, opening the door to his bedroom. "You in here, Sport?"

The shape on the bed shook a little. "I'm here," Bart said, after a long hesitation.

"You still sleeping?"

"No," Bart said. He shook again, under the covers.

"There's breakfast downstairs if you want it."

"I'm not hungry. Thanks."

Jay sighed and walked to the bed. "It's been twelve hours, kid, you must be starving. I know us speedsters can't usually go for more than four. Come downstairs."

"I will," Bart murmured. "I just want to sleep first."

"You've been sleeping all night."

"No."

Jay blinked down at the lump in the blankets. "No? You haven't slept?"

"I tried." His voice was broken now.

Jay sat down on the side of the bed and reached for the blanket. Bart didn't stop him from pulling it away, though he flinched at the light coming in from the window. He had changed out of his costume before getting in bed, dressed in light blue and white pajamas and shorts, but his arms were wrapped around something clutched to his chest, bright yellow and red, his fingers clenched tight around a pair of goggles.

"Oh," said Jay.

"He finished it," Bart said miserably. "He showed me all the specs and the changes he was making and took the measurements, but we were supposed to finish it together. He customized it for me."

"He left it with Joan and me a day or two ago," Jay said. "Was supposed to be a surprise, so we left it in your room. Wanted us to time how long it would take you to put it on and run over to his place. Figured you were gonna yell about it the whole way and tackle him no matter what he was doing at the time."

"I would have," Bart said with a choked laugh. "I'd have sprinted to Stanford and tackled him in full costume and hugged him so hard they'd've had to pry me off with a crowbar."

The laugh faded slowly, peppered with soft hiccups and sniffles.

Jay ruffled his hair. "He'd be proud of you, kid."

"Why," Bart said flatly. "I didn't do anything."

"You saved the world, kid, you and him."

Bart didn't answer.

"You came back here from your future, you changed everything. You saved Barry's life, you beat the Reach, you did wonders for that Beetle kid. You did good, Bart. Wally was proud of you, or he'd never have made you the costume in the first place."

"I didn't save him," Bart said. He gazed blankly at the wall, not blinking. "I came back because I wanted to save everyone. I wanted my family back. I barely knew him in my future, he died when I was a little kid. And now that future's gone, the people I knew are never gonna exist the same way. And the family I had here is broken. Because I couldn't slow down."

"Bart…"

"I just kept sprinting, Jay. I heard him and Grandpa talking, but I didn't slow down, I believed Luthor, but we could have kept pace, we could have helped him, and I didn't! I didn't save him. It was my fault." He sat up, rubbing his head, letting the costume fall to the mattress. "I don't deserve this. Not if he can't give it to me himself."

"Too late for that, kid," Jay said. He plucked the goggles from Bart's hand, reaching around to strap them around his head. Bart stared blankly at him as he adjusted the lenses on the boy's forehead, centering them and brushing his hair down over them. "He left it here for you, Bart. He already made that decision. You've earned the costume. You've earned the name 'Kid Flash,' if you want it."

Bart looked down at his lap, running his thumb over the lighting symbol on the uniform's chest.

"Come on," Jay said, slapping Bart on the shoulder. "Come downstairs and have something to eat. You don't need to starve yourself. Think what Wally would say, he took his food very seriously."

"Yeah," said Bart. "I know."

Jay lingered in the doorway. Bart didn't make any move to get up from the bed, slowly rubbing the lens of his goggles with his thumb.

"Five minutes, kid," Jay said. "Then we're coming up here and forcing a sandwich down your throat whether you want it or not."

"Okay," said Bart, looking up with a meek smile. "I'll be down in a flash."

Jay threw his arms up like he had been mortally offended, supressing a smile before turning to leave.

The door shut behind him, and Bart turned back to the uniform. His uniform, he supposed, though it still didn't feel like it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly to the lightning bolt. "It was my fault. I should have listened. I should have slowed down." He raised the cloth in his hands, pressing his forehead into the symbol. His eyes felt warm, prickling. "But I'll try to live up to your expectations. To your memory."

He curled down onto his own lap, hugging the cloth to him, ignoring the sharp corners of the shoulder armor digging into his chest.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm going to miss you."

With fifty-three milliseconds to go, Bart was out the door and down at the kitchen table. He smiled brightly at Joan as she handed him a plate with fried eggs on it. It was still forced, she could tell, but maybe more honest than the one from the night before. He sat down, fork in one hand, the other planted firmly in his hair, thumb running over the lens of his goggles.