"Wait, we're what?" Wally groaned, tugging on his gym shirt, looking at his friend Jason in horror.

"We're running the mile," Jason shrugged, patiently waiting for Wally to finish changing. Wally's chest tightened as an unpleasant feeling washed over him. He was a fucking asthmatic, and they were running the stupid mile, and he didn't even remember to bring his inhaler!

Wally hated the mile. It was part of some stupid "Presidential Fitness Test" they had to take three times a year. He did fine on everything else; the push-ups, the sit-ups, the shuttle run, and the sit-and-reach. But it was the mile, the mile, that Wally had always hated. Because he was an asthmatic, because he was as slow as hell, and because he couldn't do one single fucking thing about it.

No one else had the same problem he did. Everyone else was fast, and their mile scores were fine. But he was just Wally West: the asthmatic slow-poke.

"It's okay," Jason said. "You'll be fine. It's just one mile."

"Easy for you to say," Wally retorted, tying one of his sneakers before the duo walked towards the front of the gym, waiting to be let outside so that they could run. "You always do well on it."

Jason snorted. "Plenty of people are better than me. And besides, Wally, you're scores aren't that bad."

"I got a freaking nine minutes and sixteen seconds the last mile we did," the red-haired teen snapped as they walked out the doors, heading towards the track, which, in Wally's mind, translated to "hell-hole."

"That's not bad," Jason said, but Wally wasn't buying it. It was terrible. And no matter how hard he tried, the time never seemed to change. He would be stuck with that nine minute mile forever.

The two boys lined up with the rest of the class at the starting line, patiently waiting for their gym teacher, Ms. Larenz, to blow the whistle.

Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

The shrill noise rang through the air, and suddenly, everyone was running. Jason quickly tore ahead to the front, leaving Wally behind in the dust, where he was stuck in the middle section.

Oh my God, Wally thought. I cannot fucking do this.

His feet were slapping against the pavement, his arms pumping by his sides, hair flying out in the wind. His breathing was labored, and he was sure his face was a bright red. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt himself start to wheeze.

Dammitdammitdammit...Wally thought desperately. And oh my God he was running so slowly even though he was trying his fucking best and he wasn't going to speed up anytime soon...Why the hell do they even make us do this? The freckled boy was thinking of creative ways to sue the school for making them do this when he passed the halfway mark.

"Four fourty-two," Ms. Larenz called out to him, stopwatch in hand, and Wally mentally cursed. That was how long it took him to run a half-mile? Fucking pathetic. It was so. Fucking. Pathetic.

Pick up the pace, West, he snarled to himself, trying to ignore how hard it was to breathe, how his throat was closing up, how he was wheezing more than ever. You can do much better than this. Just run!

It was at that moment that Wally noticed that he was running in sync with a group of popular bullies. Oh, that's just fucking perfect...They weren't doing anything yet, but he could tell that they were about to. He could see their cruel smirks, he could see the fact that they weren't even sweating, that they were running this slow just to mock him.

All of a sudden, a boy named Will cut in front of him, jogging a circle around him, forcing Wally to have to slow down so he wouldn't run into him. "God, West, you're so slow," Will spat, snickering. "I mean, look! I'm running circles around you!" Out of spite, Will quickly circled around him again, cutting the red-haired teen off. Again.

"Stop...it..." Wally pant-growled, which only made them snigger harder. Wally, infuriated, sprinted in front of them; he couldn't take this anymore. But his burst of speed was a small obstacle for the bullies, who caught up to him within seconds, continuing to taunt him and ridicule him until they eventually got bored, speeding up and running harder.

Wally bit his lips, feeling his throat tighten, this time not from his asthma, but from the tears that were threatening to fall out of his stinging eyes. I'm not going to cry, Wally thought, gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain in his lungs. I'm not weak. I'm not going to cry. I'm not. Going. To. Fucking. Cry. But their harsh words circled around in his head, repeating themselves over and over again.

...so damn slow, West...

...like a snail, for God's sake...

...my grandfather could walk faster than you're running...

And out of nowhere, his throat seized up, and he tripped, stumbling, and oh my God he couldn't fucking breathe and where was his fucking inhaler when he needed it?

He stopped, his heart beating rapidly, like the rhythm of a hummingbird's wings, and coughed. The coughs were wet and hacking, racking his whole body with pain as he desperately tried to force air into his lungs. But they wouldn't take in air, no matter how hard he tried, and he could feel his throat closing and he was light-headed and couldn't see straight, and-

Wally fell down to his knees, clutching his throat desperately, tears leaking out of his eyes as he gasped and panted. His breathes were short and there was hardly anytime in between him. Vaguely, Wally realized what he was doing. He was hyperventilating.

Oh, shit.

He had never, ever hyperventilated before, and it was an experience he hoped not to repeat, because it was like tortured. And he couldn't even seem to calm himself down. He just kept hyperventilating, more tears streaming down his face as he keeled over, dizzy, his thoughts muddled as he watched other kids from his school sprint by. I mean, come on people, he was lying by the side of the track, and no one was fucking stopping to help him? Yup, that just shows you what a caring school he had.

His head was reeling and his vision was blurring as more coughs exploded out of the teen. God, his asthma attacks usually calmed down after a few minutes, and it had definitely been more than a few minutes, so why wasn't it going away? Unless...unless...this was actually something serious.

"Wally!" he heard Jason gasp. "Oh my God..."

He felt someone grip his hand and yank him upwards. It was Ms. Larenz. "Wally, are you okay?"

"Asthma..." he gasped out, the word faint and unsteady, rather like himself right now. "I-I...can't b-breathe..."

"Come on," Ms. Larenz said. "I'll take you to the Nurse." She led him past Jason, whose face was stricken and stark-white, she led him past his perturbed classmates, she led him into the school to that small office that Wally felt he was going to become familiar with in the next few hours.

"Today I want all of the people who need to retake their mile to come with me to the work-out room," Ms. Larenz announced. "Wally, Scout, and Natalie, would you please follow me?" Wally stood up along with Scout, a girl with brown hair and thick glasses, and Natalie, a blond girl with blue-gray eyes, patting his pocket to make sure he had his inhaler with him. He glanced at Jason, who gave him a thumbs up, and grinned before walking into the work-out room, starting up a treadmill.

"Good luck, Wally," Ms. Larenz told him, and he increased the speed on his treadmill.

This time, he didn't feel that horrible, tightening feeling in his lungs, because he had taken his inhaler beforehand. He just focused on his breathing...in...out...in...out...He listened to the sound of his feet pounding in a steady rhythm as he ran, adjusting the treadmill once or twice as he did.

When the distance on his treadmill finally read 1:00, he called Ms. Larenz over, stopping the machine.

"Great job, Wally! You ran a eight-minute three-second mile...impressive. You really improved!"

Wally's breath caught on his throat as he looked at Ms. Larenz before his eyes flickered over to the treadmill, to make sure she wasn't just joking or anything.

She wasn't.

The treadmill clearly read 8:03.

"Oh, God," Wally breathed, as a bubble of happiness rose in his stomach. Eight minutes. And three seconds. He had never done so well on a mile. Eight minutes and three seconds.

"How'd you do, man?" Jason asked him as Wally walked towards him and a group of other people.

"Eight minutes and three seconds," Wally said, a broad grin spreading over his face.

"Hold on...did you just say eight minutes and three seconds?" Jason inquired in astonishment as everyone else did a slight double-take.

"Yup," Wally replied.

"Don't you mean eight minutes and thirty seconds?" A boy named Thomas asked.

"Nope. Eight minutes and three seconds," Wally corrected. Thomas let out a low whistle as Jason clapped Wally on the back, smiling widely.

"I knew you could do it," he told the red-haired teen, before turning to talk to someone else.

Wally rode that wave of happiness for a couple more minutes before a thought struck him, metaphorically sending him crashing to the ground.

He had gotten almost and eight minute mile.

But there were some people in his school who had gotten almost a six minute mile.

Two weeks later, Wally became Kid Flash.

He smiled, testing out his impossible speed.

No one would ever call Wally West slow again.

This was based on an incident that happened a couple of days ago to me. Everything in here happened to me (except for me turning into Kid Flash, of course.) And yes, I'm an asthmatic, so I know all about what it's like. And let me tell you guys:

It.

Fucking.

Sucks.

So I was afraid to post this, because I wasn't sure how it was going to be received, but then I was like, "Oh, what the heck. You need to get your feelings out there." So...yeah. Sorry for all the cursing, but hey. I was in a pretty crappy mood when I wrote this.

I don't own Young Justice, thought I do own Jason, Scout, Natalie, Will, and Ms. Larenz.

Reviews would be much appreciated.

~lilmissf