Bart wasn't sure what made this day so bad. It was just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Maybe that was what made it so bad. He just knew that he had spent the first half of the day going out of his mind, imagining all the things he could be doing. He checked the bathroom and, finding it empty, raced around in agitation. Kon would have just left. He would have accepted detention with his usual flippant, "the Revenge of the People with No Clue" look. Tim would have had more patience or found some way to keep himself entertained.

Bart couldn't leave without being a Disappointment. And his imagination was currently strangling his patience for fun.

His mind went through thousands of options while simultaneously wondering what sort of gross stuff his body was picking up from this place. Even the air would be filled with the remains of the toilets throwing up--

Sitting on his wit's end was the idea. It was a last resort idea, such a last resort it never occurred to him, even in battle. He never had time to reach the end of his rope in battle. But he must have been slowly losing his mind for months, because he not only thought it, he did it, with an impulsiveness he usually restrained.

"Boss!" said the scout, grinning from ear to translucent ear.

Bart stared in horror while the scout preened. He was never, ever going to do that again. He'd just made a horrible mistake, and here it was in front of him, checking itself out in the mirror.

But, possessed by something slower and stupider than himself, he pointed outside.

"Don't do anything dangerous and don't be seen."

He stared some more as the scout saluted and zipped away. He did not just do that.

He managed to keep telling himself that for a full minute before he erupted in panic.

By the end of the day, he was at his other wit's end, at the complete opposite end of his wit. He had spent the last few hours--subjective weeks--waiting for Death's hands on him, waiting for his flesh to burn from his body again. Every time he managed to calm himself down his mind would flash to the feel of his death.

He fled the school as the bell rang--no one paid him any mind anyway--and met his scout outside, vowing to never do that again.

But when the scout returned to him, that all just disappeared. He had spent the day reading newspapers from all over the world, as Max used to, checking in--unseen--on people he was lucky to see once a month, cataloguing events all over the world. His school day was still there, sure, somewhere. But it was just part of The Day, which, whether a bit better or a bit worse, he had been living since he moved here. What he would remember was that Greta had a new haircut, and Cissie had a new boyfriend, and Carol still had a picture of him on her wall.

The next day, he did it again. He cautioned the scout--who rolled his eyes--against every danger he'd conceived during the long yesterday. No Smallville or Gotham--Kon had superspeed and Batman might as well have. Nothing more dangerous than a pulling cats from trees, and leopards didn't count.

The day was long. He got enough odd looks even when he didn't have a high-speed full-body tic. Now, Bart's teachers were convinced he was on drugs. He'd broken a couple desks with his vibrating, and security searched him for a wrench. Phone calls were made. No matter, he slipped to the bathroom between classes, and it all disappeared. No matter how trivial the news the scout returned, it was as though Bart were living his life, instead of sitting through it. Despite spending the entire day in a frenzy of worry, he returned home looking so satisfied that Jay decided that whatever had been bothering was already over.

The next day, he sent the scout to search through time. He'd searched everywhere for Max's body and hadn't found it, but speedsters could be everywhen as well.

A few days more, and Bart unplugged the phone, taught himself forgery and wrote himself a sick note. Sure, they thought he was a delinquent, but he also never got sick and was probably due. Jay would understand, it was just explaining how he knew he had to go home that was hard.

It was almost a sort of vacation, once he got over his grief. No mom and no XS. But they were probably in another reality somewhere--he was the proof--so he'd just have to find them again, that's all. He set aside his scouts and helped the Legion the old fashioned way. A temporary ring, a few adventures, hoards of admirers falling over themselves and calling him The Flash. Even this world's Brainy seemed to like him better than the old one, if only because the library had made explanations quicker. Bart idly debated the Legionnaire's purpose with him sometimes, and tried to convince him that a leader needed more than just a brilliant mind. But he knew Brainy wasn't really debating, just explaining, and would not be convinced.

The Legion said they would be happy to keep him, paradoxes be damned, but Bart wasn't ready to pull a Superboy just yet. After all, he had three people to find now.

He returned on the day he had left, and when Jay questioned him (at Bart's school, delinquents were never sick,) he said he was out looking for Max. Which was true, even if it made Jay look at him sadly and clasp his shoulder and call him "son."

Three weeks later, and he had scouts out at most times, even on weekends. It helped that it was normal for Bart to appear in several places at once. He brought them back to him before charging into battle--the others didn't seem to notice the delay--so his mind would be clear and the scouts would be safe. Still, he couldn't set aside the thought, even then, that he'd forgotten one. That some part of him was missing, running who-knew-where and possibly headed for danger.

Three months later, and he was in a coma again.

Jay Garrick was sure most people's retirements weren't like this. He had thought of retirement as, well, a sort of vacation from his life. A declaration that your worries were over, your job was done, and now you were going to have a well-earned rest and enjoy the end of your years. He should have known better.

He got the call far too late, because the school thought Bart was a normal boy and also that he was on drugs. They'd called in an ambulance and pumped his stomach and wondered if it was a suicide attempt, and that was hours ago. Only now, as the doctors gave him a long list of exactly what wasn't wrong with him, did Jay get to see and know immediately what it was. He'd been there the first time, and few things made a speedster this still.

Jay convinced them to allow Bart to be moved based on conviction alone. Being an old hand at superheroing gave him the right look and the right voice to get people to do what he said right away. Soon and ages later, Wally was literally wearing a path in Jay's carpet while J'onn examined the boy.

"He's not supposed to have scouts anymore," Wally protested for about the billionth time.

J'onn winced. The two Flashes stilled to stare at him.

"Someone's snapped his neck," said J'onn, kneading the bridge of his nose, "His scout's neck."

Jay tried to calm himself while Wally turned away, his arms raised in frustration at the world in general and this boy in particular.

"There is an additional problem," said J'onn in that mind-breakingly slow and deliberate way of his. "The person who attacked him appears ..."

Wally turned back, "For God's sake, J'onn--"

"...appears to be Max."

This time there was no protest to continue.

"Max?" Wally said, "Max Mercury?"

Max Mercury but not Max Mercury. Rival was the one using Max's body now. Jay buried his head in his hands.

"I can't find out much else," said J'onn, "He's too focused on his death."

Wally didn't appear to be listening anymore. He had tightened up in that way that meant he had caught sight of his destination, and God help anyone between him and it.

"Where?" Wally turned back and glared at J'onn for his hesitation. "Where is he, J'onn?"

J'onn told him, and Wally was gone.

Wally had made a decision.

The thing about decisions was, they could not be changed. Choices, yes. But decisions were something you held onto, something you brought about. Once Wally dedicated himself, he was a bullet of pure will. He would not accept anything else. He had decided it, and it would be done.

When Bart woke up, Max would be there. Wally would make sure of it.