Chapter Text
A single beam of light spilled across the cracked leather of an old storybook, its gold lettering dulled with age. The pages opened on their own, like even the universe was sick of telling the same old bedtime story.
“Once upon a time,” Wally West’s voice drawled, low and mocking, “there was a lovely prince cursed with a terrible enchantment. Only true love’s kiss could break it.” He flipped the page, squinting at the delicate illustrations. “Locked away in a castle. Guarded by a gun-wielding warrior. Yadda yadda, knights tried, knights died, the prince kept waiting.” His tone pitched higher in false dramatics, “‘His true love and true love’s first kiss.’”
Wally snorted, snapped the book shut, and ripped out the page without remorse. “Yeah, right. Like that’s ever gonna happen.” He tossed the paper over his shoulder—and flushed.
The outhouse door creaked open, releasing Central City’s most infamous redheaded menace. Not the scarlet speedster the League loved to praise. Not the kid everyone thought was quick-witted, funny, and bright. No, this was Swamp Wally : unshaven, in sweatpants that had seen too many bad days, emerging barefoot into the marsh like it was his personal paradise.
And to him, it was.
His morning routine was grossly efficient: shower in a downpour of muddy water, scrub his teeth with a handful of herbs (and, okay, maybe a beetle or two), cannonball into the pond to rinse, then fish out a few slugs for breakfast. A man’s gotta eat.
He painted “KEEP OUT” signs around the swamp in bold, dripping letters, and sat back to admire his work.
Peace. That was all he wanted.
Of course, peace never lasted long.
By nightfall, the swamp’s edge glowed with torchlight. Wally paused mid-slug-bite, tilting his head toward the sound of stomping boots and angry voices. Villagers. Great. He stood, brushed mud off his hoodie, and peered through the reeds as they trampled his signs into the muck.
The mob stopped outside his shack, whispering nervously, oblivious to the six-foot redhead sneaking up behind them with a grin sharp enough to cut.
Boots squelched in the mud as the mob clustered just outside Wally’s shack. Their torches hissed in the damp night air, lighting up a mix of nervous faces.
“Think it’s in there?” Booster Gold whispered, peering at the crooked door.
“All right,” muttered Ted Kord, brandishing a makeshift spear that had probably been stolen from a Halloween display. “Let’s get it!”
“Whoa, hold up,” Plastic Man stretched his arm out, blocking them dramatically. “Do you even know what that thing can do to you?”
“Yeah,” grunted Snapper Carr from the back, puffing his chest. “It’ll—uh—grind your bones for bread.”
A low chuckle came from behind them.
The mob whirled to find Wally West leaning casually against a tree, mud smeared up to his knees, an unamused grin plastered across his face.
“Close,” Wally said, strolling closer. “But that’s a giant . Different department.”
The villagers screamed, stumbling back.
“Now, me ? Speedsters are much worse.” He tapped his chin as though considering a grocery list. “They’ll make a suit out of your freshly peeled skin.”
“No!” Booster squeaked.
“Oh, yeah. They’ll shave your liver, squeeze the jelly from your eyes. Tastes amazing on toast.” Wally mimed spreading it with a knife.
“B-back! Back, beast!” Ted yelped, waving his torch like it would actually do anything.
Wally rolled his eyes, licked his fingers, and casually snuffed the flame with a pinch. The torch clattered to the ground.
The mob froze.
And then Wally bared his teeth in a grin, sucked in a huge breath—and unleashed the kind of roar that could shake Gotham’s gargoyles off their ledges. The torches blew out in a spray of spit.
Everyone screamed.
“This,” Wally whispered, leaning down, “is the part where you run away.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. Booster tripped over Plastic Man’s elongated leg, Snapper dropped his pitchfork, and within seconds the entire mob was a tangle of limbs and shrieks disappearing back into the trees.
Wally laughed until his sides hurt.
“Yeah, and stay out!” he called after them.
Something white on the ground caught his eye. He bent, tugged a damp paper from the mud, and squinted at the bold print.
WANTED: Fairytale Creatures.
The smile slipped a little. Wally crumpled the poster in his fist and tossed it aside. With a long sigh, he turned back toward the quiet of his swamp.
The next day, the forest was alive with the sound of chains dragging across dirt.
One by one, “undesirables” were herded toward wagons by armored Duloc guards—though anyone with eyes could tell they weren’t real knights, just Cadmus thugs pressed into service. The Captain of the Guard, none other than Jim Harper in gold-plated armor that looked suspiciously too small for him, sat at a desk weighed down with coins.
“All right. This wagon’s full,” one of the guards barked, shoving a sobbing dwarf up the ramp. “Move it along! Next!”
“Twenty pieces of silver for the witch,” Harper announced, counting out the coins and sliding them across to the smirking bounty hunter.
The crowd shuffled forward. Danny Chase sulked in line with a struggling Batmite locked in a jar, Toyman dragged along one of his “real boy” robots, and the Terrible Trio—faces hidden behind pig, vulture, and fox masks—huddled together in a cage.
“Lousy twenty pieces,” one farmer muttered, pocketing his reward.
“Sit down and shut up!” a guard snapped, yanking on another chain.
Roy Harper stood in line, a rope looped cruelly around his neck. His boots squelched in the mud as he glanced around—eyes widening at the sight of caged bears, a sobbing cub pressing against the bars. His stomach turned.
He leaned sideways toward his captor. “Look, Jade, c’mon. Don’t turn me in. I’ll never be stubborn again, I swear. I can change. Please.”
“Shut it.” Jade Nguyen smacked him across the back of the head. “You had your chance.”
“Next!” Captain Harper barked. “What’ve you got?”
Toyman shoved his robot forward. “A robot. Perfect condition.”
The robot’s head snapped around with eerie smoothness. “I’m not a robot. I’m a real boy.” Its nose telescoped outward with a metallic whine.
“Five shillings for the possessed toy,” Jim said flatly. “Take it away.”
“No, Father!” the robot wailed, arms reaching back. “Don’t let them—”
But Toyman was already counting his coins.
Jade marched up next, tugging Roy forward by the leash. “I’ve got a talking jackass.”
“That’s good for ten shillings—if you can prove it,” Harper said, unimpressed.
Jade smirked. “Oh, he talks. Go on, Roy.”
Roy stood frozen.
“Well?” Harper leaned forward.
“He’s just nervous,” Jade insisted, smacking him again. “Really, he’s a chatterbox. Talk, you boneheaded dolt!”
Harper waved a hand. “Enough. Guards—”
“No, no!” Jade flailed. “He does! Watch this—‘I can talk, I love to talk, I’m the talkin’-est thing you ever saw!’” She yanked his jaw like a ventriloquist dummy.
“Get her out of my sight,” Harper ordered.
“Wait—no!” Jade shrieked as two guards dragged her away. Her boot shot out, clipping Danny Chase, who promptly dropped his fairy jar. Batmite spilled out, sparkling dust raining down onto Roy.
Roy blinked as his feet left the ground.
“…Holy—hell, I can fly!”
Danny Chase gawked. “He can fly!”
The Terrible Trio shouted in unison, muffled behind their masks, “He can fly!”
Guardian Harper shot to his feet. “He can talk !?”
Roy cackled midair, doing a half-spin. “Damn right I can talk! Now I’m a flying, talking ex-sidekick. You might’ve seen a housefly, maybe even a superfly, but I know you ain’t never seen a Roy fly!”
The pixie dust wore off in an instant. He plummeted, hit the ground with a groan, and scrambled to his feet.
“Seize him!” Harper barked.
Roy bolted, ducking past outstretched arms, weaving through the mob. He sprinted headlong into something solid—something tall, broad-shouldered, and very much not a tree.
The redheaded swamp menace himself turned, mud dripping from his hoodie sleeves, and glared down at Roy.
Roy froze, then spotted the guards closing in. He immediately darted behind Wally, clutching at the back of his shirt like a terrified kid.
“You there! Speedster!” Harper shouted.
“Aye?” Wally tilted his head, voice dripping with menace.
“By order of Lord Kyle Rayner,” Harper began, fumbling with his spear, “you’re both hereby placed under arrest and… uh… transported to… a designated… resettlement… facility.” His voice cracked as Wally started walking toward him.
“Oh really?” Wally said, baring his teeth. “You and what army?”
He gestured.
The captain turned—and realized every last guard had already fled into the trees.
Harper swallowed hard. “R-right. Good talk.” He tossed his spear, spun on his heel, and bolted.
Wally shook his head and turned back toward the swamp.
“Can I just say—holy hell, man!” Roy ran after him, eyes wide. “That was amazing . The way you just—bam! Snuffed that torch like it was nothing, had them all tripping over themselves? I haven’t felt that good watching someone wreck a squad of guards in ages!”
Wally sighed. “Great. Wonderful. Glad my intimidation tactics are such a thrill for you.”
Roy, undeterred, grinned from ear to ear. “Man, it’s good to be free.”
“Then why don’t you go celebrate it with your own friends?” Wally shot back, trudging away.
Roy jogged to catch up, boots splashing in the muck. “But, uh—I don’t have any friends. And I’m not going out there by myself.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, wait! I got a great idea. I’ll stick with you. You’re a mean, green—” he glanced at Wally’s mud-smeared hoodie, “—uh, fighting machine. Together we’ll scare the spit outta anybody who crosses us.”
Wally stopped, turned, and for a moment Roy thought maybe he’d won him over.
Instead, the redhead sucked in a deep breath—
—and unleashed a roar that could’ve blown the roof off Titans Tower.
Roy stumbled back, hair windblown, blinking. Then he grinned. “Wow. That was really scary. And, uh, no offense, but if that don’t work? Your breath’ll finish the job. Seriously, dude, invest in a Tic Tac.”
Wally rolled his eyes and walked off.
Seconds later, Roy dangled upside down from a felled log in his path, grinning like an idiot. “Man, you nearly burned the hair outta my nose. Just like that time—”
A hand clamped over his mouth.
Roy’s voice continued anyway, muffled.
Wally sighed and let go.
“—just like that time I ate some rotten berries,” Roy finished, cheerfully. “Whole day, I was leaking gases strong enough to clear a room.”
“…Why are you following me?” Wally demanded.
“I’ll tell you why.” Roy dropped from the log, spread his arms, and broke into song with all the subtlety of a Broadway audition:
“’Cause I’m all alone, there’s no one here beside me—”
“Stop singing!” Wally groaned, seizing him by the collar and holding him up. “God, it’s no wonder you don’t have friends!” He dropped him into the mud.
Roy sat up, blinking innocently. “Wow. Brutally honest. Only a true friend would say it like that.”
“Listen, little archer,” Wally snapped. “Take a good look at me. What am I?”
Roy squinted, scanning up his frame. “…Really tall?”
“No! I’m a speedster ! You know, ‘Grab your torches and pitchforks, hunt the freak!’ Doesn’t that bother you?”
Roy shook his head without hesitation. “Nope.”
“…Really?”
“Really, really.”
“Oh.” Wally blinked, momentarily thrown.
Roy slapped his arm in camaraderie. “Man, I like you. What’s your name?”
“…Wally.”
“Wally, huh? You know what I like about you, Wally? You’ve got that whole ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks about me’ vibe going on. I respect that.” Roy nodded earnestly.
They crested a hill, and the swamp came into view—damp, misty, and littered with crooked “KEEP OUT” signs.
“Woo!” Roy exclaimed. “Who’d wanna live in a place like that ?”
“That,” Wally said, grinding his teeth, “would be my home.”
“Oh! Gorgeous!” Roy backpedaled. “Just stunning. Honestly, I don’t know how you did it on such a modest budget. Love the boulder. Fantastic boulder.” His gaze flicked to the warning signs. “Guess you don’t entertain much, huh?”
“I like my privacy.”
“Me too,” Roy agreed instantly. “Another thing we’ve got in common. I hate when people won’t leave you alone, even when you’re dropping hints. Just standing there, awkward silence, won’t budge…”
The silence stretched.
Roy smiled brightly. “So, can I stay with you?”
“…What?”
“Can I stay with you? Please?”
“Of course,” Wally said flatly.
Roy lit up. “Really?”
“No.”
Roy dug his heels in as Wally tried to shut the hut door in his face. “Please! I don’t wanna go back there! You don’t know what it’s like to be treated like a freak.” He shoved at Wally’s chest, pinning him against the frame. “Okay—maybe you do. Which is exactly why we gotta stick together. You gotta let me stay! Please, please, please!”
“Fine!” Wally yelped, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But one night only .”
“Ha!” Roy whooped and darted past him like he owned the place.
“Wait—hey, what are you doing —no!” Wally lunged after him, but Roy was already sprawled comfortably across a chair like it was a throne.
“This is gonna be great,” Roy grinned. “We’ll stay up late, swapping manly stories, and in the morning? I’m making waffles.”
Wally growled so loudly the swamp frogs went quiet.
Roy glanced around. “So, uh… where do I sleep?”
“Outside,” Wally snapped.
Roy blinked. “Oh. Well. Yeah, okay, that’s cool. Totally fine.” He rose, moving slowly toward the door like a kicked puppy. “I mean, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, so outside makes sense. Best option, really.”
Wally shoved him out and slammed the door.
From the other side came Roy’s voice, muffled but determined. “I mean, I like the outdoors. I’m a Roy. Born outside, raised outside. No problem. I’ll just sit here. Alone. By myself. Outside.” His tone grew louder, sing-song. “All alone… there’s no one here besiiide me…”
Inside, Wally pressed his palms over his face and groaned.
Dinner was supposed to be simple. Wally set the table with his finest cracked plate, lit a candle—homemade, earwax and all—and sat down with his slug stew steaming in front of him.
For exactly three seconds, he had peace.
A creak sounded behind him. Wally glared at the window. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”
Roy’s voice floated in cheerfully, “I am outside!”
Another creak. This time from inside.
Wally turned, squinting at the shifting shadows on the wall. He took a step—only to find three hooded figures crawling across his table, white canes tapping against the wood.
“Well, gents,” one of the Blind Assassins sighed, “it’s no League compound, but what choice do we have?”
“Not home,” another agreed, “but it’ll do.”
Ambush Bug bounced gleefully on a slug in the stew bowl. “What a lovely bed!”
“Gotcha.” Wally lunged, only for the bug to zip out of his grip and land on his shoulder.
“Ooo, cheese,” Ambush Bug said, and without hesitation, bit Wally’s ear.
“OW!” Wally swatted at him.
The bug spat. “Blah! Awful stuff.”
“Is that you, Bug?” one of the blind assassins asked.
“How’d you know?”
“That’s enough! ” Wally snarled, scooping all three assassins in his hands. “What the hell are you all doing in my house—”
He was cut off as something bumped into him from behind. The assassins tumbled out of his grip.
“Make room!” barked Kite Man, leading a band of six other sorry-looking villains as they shuffled a glass coffin onto Wally’s table. Inside, a pale woman with roses in her hair slept soundly.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Wally shoved the coffin back. “Dead broad off the table!”
“Where else we supposed to put her?” Crazy Quilt whined. “The bed’s taken.”
“What?” Wally stalked into his bedroom, yanking back the curtain—
—to find the Big Bad Wolf lounging comfortably beneath his blankets, newspaper in paw.
“…What?” the wolf said flatly.
Moments later, he was sailing through the front door by the scruff of his neck.
“I live in a swamp!” Wally bellowed. “I put up signs! I’m a terrifying speedster freak! What the hell do I have to do to get a little privacy?!”
The door swung open wider, and Wally froze.
His swamp—the one place he actually liked, the one space that was his —was crawling with refugees. Circe’s apprentice witches zoomed overhead on broomsticks, cackling. Pied Piper sat on a log, piping merrily while rats danced in circles at his feet. The Terrible Trio huddled around a campfire where Little Bear sobbed against his father’s shoulder. A dozen more fairytale misfits were pitching tents, stringing up laundry, and trampling his lily pads.
“No. Oh, no. No, no, no!”
Wally’s hands fisted at his sides as he spun in place, narrowly dodging a broomstick dive.
Finally, he let it out, voice booming across the swamp like a thunderclap.
“WHAT—ARE YOU DOING—IN MY SWAAAAAMP?!”
Wally’s roar echoed across the swamp. Silence fell. Circe’s apprentice witches dove into a tent, the gnomes clutched each other, and the rat Piper’s flute squeaked to a stop mid-note.
“All right, that’s it,” Wally snapped, shoving his way forward. “Get outta here. Move it! Let’s go, hapaya, hapaya—hey!”
The henchmen-dwarves scuttled into his house instead, slamming the door shut.
“No, no, no, no! Not in there! ” Wally rattled the doorknob to no avail, then swung an accusing glare at Roy.
“Don’t look at me,” Roy said, raising his hands innocently. “I didn’t invite ‘em.”
A thin, reedy voice piped up. It was Pinocchio—except here it was Rag Doll Jr. , creaking at the joints. “Well, gosh, no one invited us.”
“…What?!” Wally barked.
Rag Doll’s painted eyes blinked wide. “We were forced to come here.”
“By who?!”
One of the Three Little Pigs—here reimagined as Detective Chimp’s very drunk cousin —hiccupped. “Lord Rayner. He huffed, and he puffed, and he… signed an eviction notice.”
Wally groaned. “Great. Fantastic.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right, who knows where this ‘Rayner’ guy is?”
The crowd collectively gasped.
Silence.
“I do!” Roy piped up immediately, bouncing on his hooves.
“Anyone else?” Wally demanded, scanning the crowd.
Little Bear lifted a paw, but Papa Bear (Detective Chimp himself in this parody) shoved it down. The Big Bad Wolf pointed at Merlin, who promptly pointed back.
“Anyone at all?” Wally growled.
“ Me! ” Roy shouted, hopping up and down. “I know! Pick me! Pick me, I know, I know!”
“…Ugh.” Wally dragged a hand down his face. “Fine.” He turned to the motley swamp refugees. “Attention, all… whatever you people are. Your welcome is worn out. In fact, I’m going to see this Rayner guy right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from.”
For a moment—blessed silence.
Then the entire horde erupted into cheers, applause, and whistles. Birds fluttered down, draping a flowered cloak around Wally’s shoulders like he was some kind of savior.
“Oh, for the love of—” He shoved the petals away and jabbed a finger at Roy. “ You! You’re coming with me.”
Wally brushed the flowered cloak off his shoulders, annoyed, while the birds flitted over to place a wreath of daisies on Roy’s head. Roy grinned from ear to ear, clearly delighted by the adoration of the crowd. The swamp denizens cheered as the pair made their way through, Roy practically bouncing on his hooves with excitement.
“All right, that’s what I like to hear! Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!” he shouted, spinning in a little circle.
“On the road again…” Roy started singing, voice carrying loudly over the cheers. “Sing it with me, Wally!”
Wally snatched a torch from a cheering dwarf who refused to let go. With a few sharp shakes, the dwarf toppled backward into a pond with a yelp, leaving Wally to march on, torch held high.
“I can’t wait to get on the road again,” Roy continued, undeterred by the minor splash.
“What did I say about singing?” Wally snapped, yanking the wreath off Roy’s head.
“Can I whistle?” Roy asked innocently.
“No.”
“Well, can I hum it?”
“All right, hum it,” Wally growled, finally giving in.
Roy began humming the familiar tune, head swishing happily, as they set off into the night. Wally’s torch lit the way, casting long shadows across the swamp, and together they disappeared from sight, ready to face whatever chaos awaited in the big city.