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~Javelin, December 23rd, 3:14pm~
It had been a long thirty-six hours for the League. A peacekeeping mission in the neighboring galaxy had been simple and dealt with rather quick and painlessly. That was, until John noticed Flash acting strangely on the journey home. He’d stopped eating mid-snack, setting the bag of pretzels down and didn’t seem interested in it anymore. That was strike one: Wally was usually starving after missions, and while there wasn’t much combat on this one, his abilities had been utilized quite a bit, with running messages back and forth as their communicators hadn’t worked well in the different atmosphere. Next, John noticed he was participating in the current conversation less and less as the minutes passed. Strike two. He seemed to be very focused on the table and his own breathing.
“Everything alright, Hotshot?” He asked, trying to hide any concern in the casual question. The redhead didn’t acknowledge, or even seem to hear him. He was totally concentrated on the table in front of him and keeping his breathing controlled for some reason. John’s question directed a few of the other’s attention towards the redhead as well. Diana pulled her chair closer to the speedster and reached for his arm, gently prompting him to turn to face her. That seemed to gain his attention and break him out of his trance.
“Wally?” She couldn’t help but notice the excessive heat radiating off the younger man, more so than usual. He usually ran warm, a side effect of his supercharged metabolism. It really came in handy on missions in the arctic, and she always made sure to stand next to him.
“hm?” Was the only real response she got from him, as well as a weak attempt at lifting his head to look her in the eyes. Well, she assumed he was, through the white lenses of his mask. She glanced toward John, who’s concern was still evident on his face. She reached up and slowly pulled the cowl over his head, releasing his fiery orange hair. He hardly seemed to notice, and she instantly became aware of his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes seemed glassy and unfocused. She frowned, covering his forehead with one of her palms as the other cradled the side of his neck, thumb gliding over the skin of his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and she couldn’t tell if it was voluntary or not, but she could definitely tell that he had a fever.
“He’s burning up,” She told the Green Lantern across the table from them.
Clark didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but with super hearing it was sometimes hard to miss things. He turned and looked over his shoulder from his spot in the co-pilot seat. He listened to the conversation, and then turned to Batman on his left, eyebrows furrowed and frowning.
“Sounds like something’s wrong with Flash.” Bruce frowned as well.
“He’s injured?” He hadn’t seen anything happen to the redhead, or any member of the team. No injuries had been reported when they’d reconvened before departing a few hours ago.
“Not sure…I’ll go check it- “
“He isn’t well,” That was J’onn cutting Clark off, his first words since the first few minutes of the trip home. He’d elected to use the down time to “take a nap”, where he goes into his own mind to rest and meditate. He’d been prompted out of this state by feelings of distress coming from his young teammate.
“Take over,” Bruce ordered, and Clark did so without argument, jumping on the controls. J’onn moved to the seat Clark had originally been occupying and took over navigation. The autopilot system in the javelin had malfunctioned last mission, and they hadn’t had a chance to address the issue before being called out again. To be safe, they’d be keeping someone on the controls at all times if they could help it. Bruce stood and moved back toward the table where his teammates were gathered. John had gone in search of a first aid kit.
“What’s going on?” Bruce asked gruffly, cutting right to the chase. Wally was practically lying on Diana at the point, but she easily held him up. She looked away from the redhead, sending her concerned look to Bruce.
“We aren’t sure. He just… lost focus and next we knew…” she trailed off, not knowing how to explain the current state of their teammate. Was he sick? Did he get injured in some way during the mission? Bruce reached for the speedster’s hand, pulling the red glove off as well as his own. He noticed right away how clammy the younger man’s skin was. He pressed his index finger to Wally’s wrist, finding his pulse. It was extremely fast, faster than is normal even for a speedster at rest. Simultaneously, he took notice of Wally’s seemingly labored breathing. He winced, looking to be in pain for a moment. Before Bruce could say anything, John arrived. He dumped various supplies down the table, reaching for the thermometer first. Using his free hand to push the locks of red hair off his forehead, he ran the thermometer across the front of his friend’s head. A moment passed before it beeped, displaying a number on the screen.
“Oh my,” was all John said, eyes widened a bit. Clearing the value, he repeated the action. It beeped again, only to show the same result. John frowned at the device while Bruce and Diana looked at him expectantly.
“108,” He read to them. While Wally’s normal temperature is slightly higher than a standard human would be, anything above 103 degrees Fahrenheit proved to be indicative of a fever for him. Wally shifted, pulling away from Diana. He didn’t seem to be aware of the others around him as he ran a hand through his hair, his face doing nothing to mask the discomfort he was feeling. Bruce could’ve sworn he saw a shiver course through the younger man, despite his high body temperature. He looked to Diana.
“Keep an eye on him; say something if he gets worse,” Bruce said, tone serious as always. He stood, hesitating for a moment and keeping his gaze on the redhead before moving back towards the front of the vessel.
“His vitals are all over the place, I suspect some type of illness. Call Hawkgirl, tell her to have the med bay ready.”
While J’onn opened a channel on comms to contact the Watchtower, Clark turned away from the controls.
“I thought he couldn’t get sick,” Clark countered, skeptical.
“So did I,” Bruce replied gruffly. “So did he.” He didn’t say.
“Something from the mission?”
“Unlikely, but we can’t be sure until we break it down and run some tests. First, we need to get his fever down a bit.” He snuck a look back towards the table, where someone (John) had produced a glass of water and a damp towel, which Diana was holding to his forehead. Their youngest member was once again leaning heavily on the Amazon Princess, who was easily able to support him. She used her free hand to rub his arm, trying to offer any amount of comfort she was able. Speaking of John, he was suddenly right there, saying something to them.
“He’s completely out of it, barely responsive. I don’t know what happened.” The Lantern shook his head has he said it, not understanding how his best friend’s status changed so drastically in such a short period of time. Did the redhead hit his head and not say anything?
“He seemed perfectly fine on the mission, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary for the first few hours after either.” He glanced back at Wally, only to meet eyes with Diana who was sending a look their way as well. By the looks of it, the redhead had passed out. Probably a good thing for the time being. Now, if only they knew what was wrong with him.
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~Watchtower Cafeteria, December 25th, 4:16am~
As he poured the steaming liquid into a cup, the tv in the corner caught his attention. It looked to be a repeat news report from earlier in the day. Well, actually form the day before. An attractive Asian woman stood in front of an worn red brick building, holding a microphone in her gloved hands. Next to her was an older dark-skinned woman, likely in her mid-50s. She had dark brown hair pulled up, bits of gray starting to poke through. Like the reporter to her right, she was bundled in a coat as the snow lightly fell outside.
“-with Channel 8, I’m Linda Park and I’m here at the Central City Orphanage, where for the past 4 years on Christmas morning, a special man in a red suit has come delivering gifts for the dozens of children who call this home. And no, I’m not referring to Santa Clause, but Central City’s own, The Flash. Tonight, I have MaryAnn McAdams, Director of the Central City Orphanage, here for a quick interview.” She looked away from the camera and towards the older women.
“MaryAnn, what does The Flash’s generosity mean to the kids here at the orphanage?” She asked, angling the microphone towards MaryAnn in anticipation for her answer. The older women smiled as she replied in a gentle voice.
“It means more than he could ever know. Most of these children have never experienced a normal Christmas, and with the number of children we house and our current funding, we aren’t able to give them the Christmas they deserve. Flash has selflessly taken it upon himself to raise money through community fundraisers throughout the year in order to buy gifts for these children, which he hand-delivers Christmas morning. Not only that, but he usually spends a few hours a month here, helping out and getting to know the kids, so he can personally choose gifts he knows they’ll love. The kids really look forward to his visits, and the staff and volunteers here are beyond grateful for everything he does for us and this community.” Off screen, Linda’s site manager gave the “wrap it up” sign, as they only had orders for a 90-second segment.
“Thank you, MaryAnn. As if we didn’t already have enough reasons to love Flash, we can add this to the list. To donate to the Central City Orphanage, donation boxes can be found at City Hall, as well as the entrance of the Flash Museum. Cash or checks can also be mailed directly to the orphanage. I’m Linda Park signing off, wishing you and your family a happy holiday from all of us here at Channel 8. “
Bruce frowned at the lid of his cup as he tried to secure it to the top. He had to focus a little more than usual on controlling his strength to avoid crushing the cheap material. He glanced towards the clock above the door, noting the time was after 4am. The watchtower was set to the Central time zone, meaning that would also be time in Central City, but it would be after 5am in Gotham. Time was always a messy concept up here, especially now after spending a few days in space and staying up all night with sick speedsters.
The news report upset him more than he’d ever admit. After another moment of brooding, the dark-haired man’s jaw clenched and he turned on his heel and through the double doors, coffee forgotten on the counter.
Not much later, Clark heard footsteps approaching from the monitor room. He turned away from the monitors and faced the door, where Batman entered without knocking, knowing it wasn’t necessary. He raised an eyebrow as Bruce looked anywhere but him for a brief moment.
“We’ve got a mission,”
Clark’s look in return was skeptical at best, looking back at the monitors to see if he missed anything. He turned back toward Bruce only to be cut off before he could reply.
“After your shift. Meet me at these coordinates.” The Dark Knight instructed, tapping the screen on his gauntlet which sent the signal to one of the monitors in front of Clark. He took a moment to look at the information before recognition hit him.
“Wally’s apartment?” He turned back towards Bruce, who was already headed out the door. He stopped and glanced back at his friend for a moment.
“Trust me.”
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~Wally West’s Apartment, Central City, December 25th, 5:38am~
“You know, when you said we had a mission, this isn’t exactly what I was expecting.” Clark said from the bathroom, looking in the mirror as he adjusted the red hat and false white beard Bruce had handed him. Shaking his head at how ridiculous he looked, he stepped back into the living room.
“No?” Bruce said as he lifted a large brown sack over his shoulder. Clark had been reluctant to don the ridiculous costume at first, but Bruce needed to maintain at least part of the reputation he’s built as Batman. He was already going to change a lot of people’s opinions of the Dark Knight just by doing this.
“I just never imagined seeing you do something like this,” Bruce maybe, but not Batman. Bruce looked at Clark, an unreadable expression on what was visible of his face.
“Well, Wally sure as hell can’t do it.” He said darkly, and Clark frowned, remembering the fevered state their friend had been in. After Diana relieved him of monitor duty, he’d stopped to check in on him before coming to earth, and the redhead had been awake, but not really lucid. He looked at Clark with confused, pained eyes while Shayera’s hand threaded through his hair and John arrived with new ice packs. They’d had to utilize the constraints on the bed, using them around his ankles, knees, and chest. His fever had only risen since arriving, despite their efforts to control it, and he’d unknowingly tried to bolt several times. Fortunately, in his state he hadn’t made it far. With a promise to return later, Clark had left to meet Batman, passing J’onn on his way out the med bay door.
“Come on, the sun’s starting to rise.” Bruce said, quickly changing the subject and tossing the bag to Superman so we could make his escape out the window and to the roof, where he’d discretely landed his jet. Clark smirked but followed, closing the window behind him with one hand while the other held on to the bag of gifts. He’d known Bruce had a soft spot for the speedster as well as orphaned children – and really, who didn’t?
~Watchtower Medbay; December 25th, 9:43pm~
Wally’s fever had finally broke. He’d been sleeping most of the day, in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, someone would help him to drink some water and try to get him talking a little bit before he inevitably passed out again. Each time he woke he seemed better than the time before. The redhead took a deep breath before opening his eyes again. The lights were surprisingly dimmed, unusual for this particular section of the watchtower, which probably meant it was getting late. He tried to sit up, only to be stopped by the strap across his chest. His eyes widened, a split-second moment of panic before a comforting hand landed on his shoulder. Green eyes snapped up, and he released a sigh of relief to find it was a friend.
“Sorry about that one, Hotshot.” John said, almost sheepishly, reaching around to unbuckle the restraints. “You were a little out of it for a while there. Kept trying to leave.” Hm, sounded about right. John stepped out of his line of sight for a moment, and Wally had to squint against the bright lights as John turned them all on.
“You’re looking a lot better,” The ex-marine said, sitting back down in the chair he’d been occupying the last hour or so since Shayera reluctantly relieved him of monitor duty.
“Feels like I got hit by a bus,” The redhead complained. With sleep being a fleeting thought for now, he really started to notice how uncomfortable he was. His temperature must have been pretty high if he’d been sweating, and by the cold dampness of the sheets, he must have been quite a bit. All of his muscles felt tight and sore, like he’d ran for hours without taking a breather. He turned to John, about to ask what happened when the Lantern continued, answering his questions without him even needing to ask.
“You went down with some kind of virus on the way home from Medra-six. We still haven’t found out exactly what caused it but it was able to beat your metabolism for a while. J’onn ran some tests, but they were inconclusive. But from the looks of it, it’s worked its way out of your system.” John explained seriously. After a pause, he smiled at his friend.
“Oh, and by the way, Merry Christmas.”
That last bit caught his attention. His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed as he fought the fuzziness in his head.
“It’s Christmas?” He asked, and the dark-skinned man nodded.
“For a few more hours anyway.” He added, glancing at the clock on the wall. Wally frowned. He knew he was forgetting something, something important, but his brain felt like it been covered in fog. He mentally went over the last things he remembered before he’d been taken down by an illness for the first time since getting his powers nearly a decade ago. What was it?
It hit him like a ton of bricks.
“The kids! Oh my God. John. No, no, no, no,” He exclaimed, immediately jumping up from the bed. John, surprised and confused, stood up in a hurry as well. Good thing he did, because the redhead stumbled a bit as the sudden movement caused him to feel very faint. John was quickly able to put an arm around him and stabilize him before he fell. His heart felt as if it was in his stomach.
“Wally! You’re in no–“
“It’s Christmas, John! The kids at the orphanage…they were counting on me.” With his energy already starting to dissipate after that short burst of speed, Wally let John help him back to the bed. After he sat down, he couldn’t help but run his hands through his red hair and over his face. Maybe it was the lighting, but the ex-marine could’ve sworn he saw traces of tears in his friend’s green eyes. Wally - well, Flash, but still, Wally - really went out of his way every year to give the kids at the orphanage a taste of the holiday. By the looks of it, it meant just as much to Wally as it did to them.
“I can’t believe I let them all down.” And that was the final straw. Sitting down on the bed next to him, he put a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure the speedster.
“You didn’t,” he said, giving him a small smile while reaching for the TV remote and clicking the screen on. Wally seemed more interested in the ground. His imagination was taking over, producing images of the disappointed looks on a dozen children’s faces when they woke up on Christmas morning to find Santa hadn’t come. It wasn’t hard to imagine it, seeing as he’d been in the same place many years ago. Before Barry and Iris had come along.
“- where The Flash did not make his annual Christmas day visit this morning as the children were expecting.” It was the Channel 8 news report, once again with the young Linda Park on the scene at Central City Orphanage.
“Man, will you turn that off?” Wally snapped, finally looking up to send his version of a glare at the Lantern. And if we are being honest, on a scale of one to bat glare, it was maybe a four. An argument could be made for a five. A better argument could be made for a 3. John just smiled at him, with a smug look on his face. Like he knew something that Wally didn’t.
“Keep watching...” Was all he gave, turning back towards the TV. The redhead sighed and finally looked up at the screen, immediately needing a double take at what he saw. It was inside the orphanage near the Christmas tree that he’d helped the kids decorate. Kneeling in front of the tree was Batman, helping a child who couldn’t be older than two open a neatly wrapped gift. That was Joseph, the newest arrival to the house. Wally picked out a plastic tricycle and some toy cars and trains for the little guy, as he’d noticed the brunet always carried one around, but it was missing a wheel. He figured some new ones might be more fun to play with.
“No way…” He watched the scene on the screen in disbelief, the weight lifting off his chest.
“The Scarlet Speedster may not have been able to be here today, but his replacements seemed up for the task. Two of his fellow Justice League members arrived this morning, bearing gifts that Superman claims come from ‘from the guy in the red suit.’” Linda said, winking at the camera. The footage changed to a shot of Superman outside the building, building a large snowman with several of the kids, lifting one of them up with ease so he could place the buttons and carrot on the head to make its face. Clark looked to be having a good time, and if he wasn’t then he was one hell of an actor. Wally couldn’t hold back his smile anymore as he continued to watch the news report, not looking away even as John patted his shoulder and stood to leave.
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~Watchtower Medbay, December 25th, 11:53pm~
“I still can’t believe you managed that.”
“I had nothing to do with it, man. It was all them,” After a quick shower followed by a new set of clothes and sheets, Wally had gotten a call from Dick after the vigilante had caught wind of Batman playing Santa in Central City. His first concern had been Wally, seeing as that was usually a job that The Flash willingly took on and enjoyed. He knew something had to be wrong if Bruce of all people was there instead of Wally. He also knew that Bruce isn’t always the best at keeping him updated when someone he cares about is out of commission, and if we’re being honest, neither is Wally. He only gets a free pass this time because it was unexpected and its technically still Christmas.
“This is wild. I mean, it was right up Bruce Wayne’s alley, but Batman?” Dick could totally see Bruce donating money or presents to the orphanage, maybe he’d thought about it but decided it would be too suspicious for a Gotham City billionaire to randomly donate to an institution in Central City right before The Flash doesn’t make an appearance for the first time in years? Whatever his reasoning, Wally was glad he (and Clark) had gone about it the way they did. Getting to spend a few hours with a real-life superhero was one of the parts that made it special for the kids, which is why The Flash came on Christmas instead of Wally West.
“I know, he really knows how to…speak of the devil.” He trailed off as the door to the medbay opened with a swish, making way for Batman to enter the room. Well, Batman sans cowl, gloves, cape, and belt. So, really, just Bruce in spandex. Which really, really wasn’t a problem for Wally. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man as he walked towards him.
“Hey man, I’m gonna have to call you back...”
He hung up without waiting for a response and let the hand holding the phone fall onto his lap, while readjusting his position so he could sit up a little straighter. His attempt to hide his smile from Bruce failed miserably, which managed to pull a matching one from the dark-haired man.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” First thing when Bruce reached him was a bare hand to his forehead, relieved to find his skin felt normal again. John had told him that the redhead was much better than the day before, but he’d wanted to see for himself. Two and a half hours after arriving at the orphanage, Batman and Superman (as well as J’onn and Diana) had been called out for a rescue mission, a thought-to-be-extinct-but-apparently-not-extinct-volcano was erupting on some island in the Pacific (“seriously, on Christmas!”), cutting the visit a little short. They’d only just now returned to the Watchtower, where John and Shayera stayed to watch the monitors and watch over the speedster. He’d never been sick since getting his powers, and they (still) had no idea what it was that he had, so they had no idea what to expect. Overall, it wasn’t too bad. About 48-72 hours, a pretty high fever and chills, but not much else.
“You could’ve just got the gifts from my apartment and dropped them off before anyone woke up. You’re good at being sneaky. Or you could’ve just sent them with Clark.”
“I know.”
Wally was sitting on the edge of the bed now, legs hanging off the side while Bruce made himself at home between them, hands resting near the speedster’s hips. Bruce leaned down towards him and Wally instinctively prepared for a kiss, only for Bruce to dip to the side at the last second. Wally pulled back, surprised and confused.
“You could be contagious.” Was all the explanation he provided. Bruce looked almost smug, like he thought he was being funny, which is how Wally knew he was just being an ass. He rolled his eyes and Bruce laughed. It was short and quiet, but nice to hear. He snuck an arm around Bruce and jerked him forward a bit, other hand cupping the back of the billionaire’s neck to pull him close and eliminate the distance between them. The redhead sighed into the kiss, and Bruce, not one to disappoint, deepened it. His hand found its way into the redhead’s hair while the other slipped under the hem of the white t-shirt he’d put on a bit ago.
A few moments later it came to an end, Wally choosing to lean his head on the bat symbol on the broad chest in front of him rather than pulling away. Bruce’s hand roamed his back, which felt amazing against his sore muscles. Who knew lying in a bed for three days could take so much out of you?
“Thank you,” was all Wally could say, though it was a little bit muffled by the material of the suit his face was pressing into. Bruce could feel the speedster’s smile. He pulled him a little bit closer, held him a little bit tighter, smiling to himself before pressing a kiss into the other’s auburn hair.
“Merry Christmas, Wally.”