to breathe the lightning

All recognizable characters and concepts belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network, Kate Griffin).

This...may take some explaining.

In the comics, Wally (and other speedsters) are connected to the Speedforce. Word of God says the Speedforce doesn't exist on Earth-16, where Young Justice takes place. Add to that the concepts of urban magic from Kate Griffin's Midnight Mayor series, and well. Sentient speedforce, who knew?

The world explodes.

Gee, Wally thinks. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Then he's being flung out of the room, and didn't there used to be a wall there? He's pretty sure there was a wall there before. Maybe.

So he's airborne for a few moments, and it's...nice. It's wind and sound and fury, and it's freedom right up 'til he hits the ground. Then it is much less nice.

Groggily, he wonders if it worked. It should have, right? He'd followed the formula he'd worked out so carefully. Had the electrical impulse been the wrong voltage? How does one measure the voltage of lightning?

Nothing's hurting, not yet, so he tries to stand up to see if he can run, but he can't even curl his neck up off the ground. Oh, yeah, there's the pain. He groans, but if it worked, if he got superspeed, it'd be totally worth everything.

He blinks, because that's the only action that doesn't hurt, and keeps blinking until his vision cuts out.

there's a moment alone in the dark with the sounds and

no, he says without saying

and there's the warmth of the wind and the touch of the turning

and all he can say is

don't let me die

and, yes, the breeze tells him, so soft through his hair

and yes says the whisper that steals through the air

and he laughs in the light as he opens his arms

oh yes, he answers, and smiles at freedom

yes, joy answers, and sets afire his veins

His next thought is something along the lines of, what's wrong with the world? But his lungs expand without his actual input, and he smells clean and he smells dry, and he'd groan if it didn't hurt his everything.

Well, on the bright side, he'd woken up again. That was more than he'd expected, considering.

"Wally?" A voice asks, low and worried. "Wally? Are you awake?"

He tries to say, "No," but the consonant gets lost somewhere in his throat. Still, there's some sound, and a heavy, solid weight lays cool across his forehead.

"You're burning up," and he recognizes his father's voice.

He says something back, but even he doesn't understand the noises that come out of his mouth. Then something cool and wet is held against his lips, and ooh, oh, he hadn't realized, but yes, he's thirsty.

He parts his lips just enough, and glorious wet slicks its way down, past his tongue which is too big and dry, and fills his whole mouth with the taste of stale disinfectant. Like regular disinfectant isn't bad enough.

It's gone too quick, melted, and another replaces it, and he's starting to realize that they're chips of ice, which, okay, any liquid right now is fine by him.

"I can't believe—" his dad starts, then sighs, then continues, "I'm glad you're alright, son, but just—just do us all a favor and never do this again."

Wally's throat is still working on becoming normal throat-sized and less the approximate size and texture of a tree, so he manages a small nod, and even means the promise. Either it worked or it didn't, and either way, he won't be repeating this formula. He's still got a dozen others to try. He thinks about telling his dad this, and decides to try for a thumb's-up instead.

Though his hand just kind of flops around, his dad gets the message. "What were you even thinking?" he asks, and it's off on a speech that jumps straight to number two in the Top Five Stupid Things Wally's Done rants.

He picks up the fact that he's an idiot, and that he's reckless, and a whole bunch of other endearments before tuning it back out. His mom joins them a few minutes later, and he's sure Barry will be by, well, eventually. So he's got his family, and his life, and nope, not sure yet about the experiment and whether it worked, but still, that's enough to live on for right now. And despite the fact that he's sore and achy and hurt everywhere, somehow he feels fantastic.

Turns out the experiment worked. He's got the speed now.

Well. Mostly.

When Barry runs, he leaves streaks of red behind him, and wind and sound. Wally doesn't; he throws lightning when he runs. He's also more volatile, and more...jumpy. But Barry's lightning was natural, and Wally may've gotten close, but lightning never strikes the same way twice. So he's got a few differences, so what? Mostly, Barry has been through this, and he can walk Wally through learning to deal with breaking and turning and friction and dodging, and most of it still applies to Wally.

Wally isn't as fast as Barry, much as he hates to admit it, but he's getting faster over time.

He's just growing up, and growing into the superspeed he gave himself with electricity and chemicals, and so he's just not that good at controlling it yet, so what?

He still dreams, though, in yellow and heat.

He closes his eyes and falls into the static, the warmth and buzz, and the slick slide of wind. It comes up to meet him, and bears him off flying, soaring the dreaming on lightning-flash wings. He's fast here, so fast, and never alone, for

mine sings the rush of the breeze through the byway

and I give unto you of myself and my own

and he knows this and smiles and answers so softly

and I am your wings and your heart and your soul

One day he gets a cut. This is nothing new, not considering his life, and he's had worse, so much worse. Hell, Robin's given him worse during sparring.

But this time, it happens as he's dodging glass shards at speed, and he's going so very fast in order to cheat physics, and one piece gets him on the cheek. It cuts straight through the cowl, and he instinctively blinks, but he doesn't flinch, not even when warm blood spits from the cut and stands up and traces a path out into his wake. He can't see the cut, doesn't bother, and it heals by the time the fight's over.

It happens again, though, and again, and as long as he's running when it happens, it feels...not wrong, but different.

He considers running an experiment, pun totally intended, and then thinks of himself and his still clumsy grace at superspeed, adds a sharp tool to that equation, and decides, hell, whatever, it's not like he won't get hurt again within the week anyway.

When his chance comes, it comes with a boom and a rush of heat, and the thinkthinkthud of shrapnel. He plans his duck to be a little too slow, his dodge a little off balance, and a shard scores an angry red line line across his forearm. He gets away from the rest, then runs a quick lap, taking a moment to watch. It's blood, until it's outside his body, and then it changes, and wicks away into the air in a hiss and a sizzle, and it looks actually kind of like...

Huh, that's weird.

"Hey, Uncle Barry," he asks as they're suiting down. "Does it...y'know, feel different?"

Uncle Barry blinks, and looks over at him. "Does what feel different?" he asks, and absentmindedly ruffles Wally's hair as he passes in front of him.

Wally ducks, scowling, secretly not minding at all. "When you get hurt when you're running."

"Sure," Barry shrugs. "Your whole body is moving so fast that it changes the pain response a little, I guess."

"Oh," Wally says, and thinks about it. Sure, if you're moving that fast, your blood must be hotter, and when it's exposed to the air and that friction, he supposes it could change. And, well, they have a lot more electricity in them, anyway, so, yeah.

Okay. Bleeding lightning is normal, good, check. He grins and says "Thanks, Uncle Barry!" and Uncle Barry slaps him on the back and they go to debrief, which includes a very large amount of gloating and even larger amounts of ice cream.

And everything goes along, more or less normally.

Then they're gonna go check on Red Tornado's friend. That's pretty cool, because who knew robots had friends? Not Wally, though now he does. And, oh, lookit, apparently there's magic, and who believes in magic? Not Wally, definitely not.

But they take the elevator up beyond the rules of physics, and Kent collapses in his arms, and Klarion is throwing bolts of pure chaos at him, and everything's going wrong, this isn't how it works, there's no such thing as magic, okay, because that's not how the world works.

Then M'gann's calling for Doctor Fate, and Kent isn't responding to CPR, and at this point he's about willing to risk some kind of futuristic high-tech brainwave modulator or whatever the helmet is.

The fingers of chaosfire close in, and he's got no time to make a decision.

He's out of choices, out of time, and completely, one hundred percent out of his mind.

Obviously he is, because he's lowering that stupid, stupid helmet onto his head, and he has time to think, oh my god, stupidest idea ever oh holy hell—

It snaps into place, and there's a click.

Heavy bonds tear through him; not his body, but him. It's like chains, burning cold, and they wrap around him and bring him down and drag him off to a dark corner he never wanted to go to. He's trapped.

And then, he's not. He's...well, it's like someone covered him in soap; he pops right through the chains and the coating wraps around him and lifts him up and away and out of himself, and he blinks and he's somewhere else. It's dark and he's alone and maybe a little freaked out, but just a little.

Kent Neslon says, "Still don't believe, kid? Seriously, how'd you get so bullheaded in fifteen short years?"

Except Kent Nelson is dead, and this isn't happening, no, not really, because that would be magic. So he stops listening to everything he doesn't want to hear, and tries to feel his body.

Doctor Fate is easy to find, glowing and so very bright. He's also grumbling and upset because his chains closed on nothing. He's looking for Wally, they can tell, because to be Fate's host, he sinks a hook into your soul and uses it as power and an anchor. And he can't seem to find Wally, because, well, Wally isn't there. He's covered in the man-made wind that buffets along next to trains, and the air pulled along in the wake of trucks and the blast from the horns of the barges at sea. They hide him with evershifting mosaics, and make him impossible to see and worse to catch. So Fate's got his body, yeah, but he hasn't got a host.

Wally blows a raspberry at him.

They watch the fight, him and Kent, and even Wally has to admit it's pretty impressive. Fate could really brush up on his witty banter, though.

And then the fight's over, and he'd like his body back now, please, if it's all the same. But it isn't all the same to Fate, because apparently he really hates that helmet. And as much as it must suck it be stuck in a helmet for ages, this is Wally's body, and he's got uses for it and he'd like it back, please, right the hell now.

Fate won't budge.

And he's angry and hurting and not quite alone, but he's not in his body and not in his mind. So he calls and he yells and he reaches and screams

come to my aid, come help me

and the air rises slowly and gathers and glistens, like stars among lightning that flashes so bright

So he raises his voice and he says to the sky, for those who have hurt me would take me from you

and she comes when he asks, borne down on the zephyrs, stepping so graceful on speed and on light

she comes when he calls, on the wings of her Power, because he is hers and she keeps what is his

my darling, the singing of sirens and starlight,

my vessel, she breathes, and

he breathes it in

A soothing wind brushes over his hair, something hot and burning and soft as a sigh. His eyes are closed, but he smiles, a small smile of absolute joy because he knows what this is. This is her blessing and her power and her name, and she gives them to him with a blazing kiss of fire to his forehead, and he is freedom and friction and flight, and what is his is hers is only for the wind, and a speedster can summon the hurricanes, if just to ride the thunder.

So he laughs and he does, and she works through him and with him, and together they move, barely touching the ground. She manipulates here and she dances just there, and he follows and learns and soaks in her heat. They craft all the lightning and seed it forever, through thunder and clouds of the mind and the world.

It's the most glorious moment ever, and all the wonder of everything is right there at his fingertips, because he invited her into his body, and she laid her mark on him and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Fate lets go of him like he's on fire.

Probably because he is.

The helmet comes off, and Wally's hair is damp with sweat and his face is pale and he's confused and not all the way in his body and he's certainly not alone, but he is free.

He's also a few hundred feet in the air.

"I am so stupid," he tries to say, but he's not in his body enough to move his mouth yet. He'll feel the impact, though, he's sure, because that's just his luck. He was taken over by a wizard who shouldn't exist because, oh yeah, magic isn't real, and got mindcontrolled and taken slave and then kicked out by said wizard, and now he's about to fall from a great height onto a stone tower because he doesn't think things through, apparently.

Something brushes by his mind, and a force he's never been properly conscious of is laughing at him.

Oh, sure, why the hell not?

But his arms are moving and his eyes are burning, and lightning strikes down from the clear and dark sky. It comes at him, and he has a split moment of ohmygod— and yesyesyes, and then a delicate touch is pulling the electricity, directing it indownupout, and it blazes out, two points of fire on his back, and he has wings, just for a second, constructed of lightning and covered in speed.

His feet touch down on stone, and a rush of friction burns by his soul in farewell, and it's—it's joy and the rush and utter love, and she's seen him safe before she grants him back his life.

He sees his team rushing towards him through eyes that are suddenly responding to him, and he thanks it, her, whatever, and he promises to run her worship forever, to sing the speed and breathe the lightning, and he smiles at the wind that's still with him. It takes another twirl around him, growing faint, because this is the real world now, and her only power here is through him.

He's finally all alone in his head again, and he bids goodbye to the wind, and it leaves.

He collapses, because holy hell, okay, he's just lived through possession, anti-possession, repossession, a hurricane and a lightning strike, and he sees the stone floor coming up to meet him, and it just freaking figures, okay, with the day he's been having.

Besides, he had to hit the ground sometime.

end