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Bart's stuck. This bomb's about to go off in his hands but he's not sure how to deal with it. Wally would run as far as he can until it explodes, making sure that no civilians get hurt. Barry might do that too, it's not like Bart would know.
But he's studied these kinds of bombs before. He could dismantle it in just a few seconds and put it back together if he wanted. He might be able to turn it into something useful. Except Max wants him to focus, think things through. He's thinking of course.
What would Wally do?
The answer has already crossed Bart's mind. Still he freezes, unsure if he should do that or do something he would. He doesn't want to be like Wally—people call him Kid Flash enough already—he'd rather be like Barry.
The problem is that nobody has ever told him what Barry would do in this situation. He doesn't get many stories since Grandma moved away and Wally hates spending any amount of time with him.
Fifteen seconds turn to fourteen. Bart feels his heart pick up and his fingers get clammy. Something needs to happen.
He can't decide what.
The building's been cleared out, so even if he let it explode, nobody would die. He could outrun the blast easily, but Max would give him a lecture on property damage and taxes and Bart still isn't sure how those go together and he kinda falls asleep halfway through, so he's probably missed that part of the lecture—
"Grife! Focus!" He shakes his head and pushed his hair out of his face. "What would Barry do?"
Run is the answer that first comes to him. Instinctual.
Before he can think it through, the bomb is cradled like a sleeping baby in his arms. A sleep baby about to have a massive accident all over the city streets. His legs take him down the highway, and he's looking every which way for a field or a cliff or something he can use to let the bomb go off safely. And oh, there are plenty of empty fields, but he doesn't have the time to check if they're a park or someone's backyard and he can not get in trouble for that again—
When the hell had the counter hit ten seconds?!
Maybe he should take this thing apart. Wally wouldn't. Max wouldn't. He can prove that he's better than them with this.
There wouldn't be any lectures.
Wally might stop being so rude to him.
Bart sits hard in the middle of the street, focusing his speed into the screws on the backside of the device. The panel popped open and exposed a handful of wires. Now, this is a bomb from the 20th century, its about a thousand years older than anything Bart's familiar with, but that means it'll be simple.
Pulling out all the wires would work, but that's too easy. There's no fun in disarming a bomb if he just takes it apart in one fell swoop. He's working and the clock's ticking. Second by second, he mutters to nobody but himself and the device.
"Should be this one—"
He pulls the wire out, breaking it in half. It's a step forward, but the countdown is still going.
Three seconds left.
"Blue wire!" Bart shouts it like a victory tune and rips it out, throwing his arms in the air and laying hard on his back. It's aching, but the bomb's dealt with and—
A sudden searing pain causes him to black out. When he's awake, it takes all his energy to just open his eyes again. His goggles are cracked, he can feel the glass press into his left cheek where it's stuck to the ground.
Distantly, the road burns. Bart's body has gone numb and he lets out a sigh.
Nobody will be surprised to hear he's screwed up again. That's who he is, the biggest screwup of the Flash Family.
He wonders if Wally is watching him. If this was some sort of test. Obviously Bart failed, and he wouldn't even be surprised if Wally left him here.
He can't feel his legs, so there's no way he's leaving by himself.
There's a saying, here in the past. "If you're lost, stay in one spot until your friends find you."
He's not lost. His friends don't know he's in trouble.
His eyes fall shut, thick and heavy.
A distant voice calls something he can't hear.