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"Who, Disguised As…" by Louise Freeman Davis "So, Bart, do you have plans tonight?" Helen opened a third bag of miniature candy bars and emptied them into her largest mixing bowl. "Carol's coming by," Bart Allen did not look up from the television screen where his favorite video game was playing. "Are you two going to the school Halloween party?" smiled Helen as she gathered up the empty plastic bags." "Yeah, a little later. She wants to go trick-or-treating or something first." "Just what you need, " grumbled Max Mercury from behind his newspaper. "A sugar rush." Helen shot her father a look. "It's one night a year. Let the kids enjoy themselves." "I know what can happen when he 'enjoys' himself," retorted Max. "So, what are you dressing as?" Helen asked Bart. "Dressing as?" Bart set his control panel aside as the game ground to a halt, its supply of difficulty levels exhausted. He got to his feet, a puzzled expression on his face. "Carol said to wear a costume. I thought…" Bart swiftly touched the ring on his finger, and within a split second Impulse stood in the living room. "No." Max glared at him from his armchair. "This is a costume!" Bart insisted. "No." "Max…." "No! " "But I have to wear a costume!" "Not *that* one, you aren't! Your secret identity…" "What does that matter? Everyone's wearing costumes tonight! No one'll guess!" "NO!" The front doorbell rang and Max swiftly stood and crossed the room to answer it. "C'mon!" Bart wheedled. "What are the odds of anyone figuring out I'm really Impulse?" Max opened the door to reveal a beaming Carol Trent. "Hi, Bart! Are you ready to go?!" she asked brightly. Max looked meaningfully from Bart to Carol and back again. "You'll pardon me if I'm not willing to take that chance!" he hissed. "So what am I supposed to wear, then?" pouted Bart. "I don't care, anything you want, just not that!" snapped Max, stalking off to the kitchen. Bart kicked the ottoman peevishly, but with a brief crackle of lightning, reappeared in his civilian clothes. "The discount store's still open," Helen offered helpfully. "I'm sure you can find something. You kids have fun, now. Oh, and 'Batgirl?'" she smiled, referring to Carol's costume. "Yes, Ms. Claiborne?" "Try to keep him out of trouble."
Outside, Carol regarded Bart sadly. "We can find something at Wallkay's, even at this late date. So it won't be too original…" "I spent my allowance this week," Bart replied glumly. "Can't you ask Max for an advance?" "I did. I spent that, too." "Oh." Carol sighed and shook her head. "Well, don't you know someone you could borrow a costume from? Preston, or…" "Borrow a costume…" mused Bart, and a light bulb went on. "Yeah! That's it! Be right back!" He was gone before Carol could say more.
Impulse skidded to a halt within Young Justice headquarters. A quick glance around convinced him Robin wasn't there. "Shoot!" he hissed, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers impatiently. "What do you want, Young Id?" boomed a voice. Impulse whirled around to face Red Tornado. "I was looking for Robin. Is he here?" "No, he is not. Is there a reason you would expect to find him here rather than in Gotham City?" "No… I just don't know where to look in Gotham City!" "My first suggestion would be the Batcave." "I don't know where the Batcave is! When he took me and Superboy there he had these holo-things on the windshield of his car so we couldn't see where we were going! " "I see. Well, perhaps you could ask the authorities to light the Bat-signal for you." "The Bat-signal! Cool! Thanks, Red!" Bart turned to dash out. "I'm sure Batman will assist you in finding him, once you apprise him of the nature of the emergency," continued Red Tornado Bart paused. "Well, it isn't exactly an emergency." "It isn't?" "No." "In that case, I do not suggest lighting the Batsignal." Bart visualized Batman's probable reaction. "Yeah, you're probably right. Why does Robin have to be so anal when it comes to his identity, anyway? He's worse than Max!" "He does not wish to empower you with information that would enable you to drop in on him at every whim. The boy is wise beyond his years." "I just need to ask him a favor!" "Robin installed communications links in the computer that will enable any of you youngsters to contact each other, if need be. However…" "Great!" Bart darted over to the vidphone. Using the information provided, he punched up the link. "Hello? Robin?" There was a crackle of static, which materialized into a voice. No picture accompanied it. "Robin here." "Hi, Robin, this is me!" "Impulse?" "Yeah! Are you busy?" "I have plans, yes. What is it? Is Young Justice needed?" "No, I just need a favor." "What sort of favor?" "You know your old costume in the glass case in the Batcave? I need to borrow it!" "WHAT?" "Please! There's this Halloween party tonight and…" "No." "Please!" "No." "Why not?" "Because it's not my old costume, that's why! It's…" "Was it Nightwing's? Well, great, then, he can't wear it anymore… "Bart," Robin sighed patiently. "It belonged to… to the kid who was Robin before I was. He… he died." "Oh. " Impulse paused. "So no one's using it, then?" Robin's voice tightened. "I don't believe this," he said under his breath. "Look, Impulse, you may not wear that costume, not for Halloween, not for anything!. Period. Got it? Robin out." The communicator clicked off. Impulse scowled, then immediately redialed. "Robin?" "What is it now?" came the obviously irritated answer "You know where I could find some other costume to wear then?" "LOOK!" exploded the Boy Wonder. "I am on my way for a date right now! This friend needs all the support she can get at the moment and tonight is one of the very few nights in all the year where I can go out in public with her without being noticed!. I am not going to waste time helping you get a Halloween costume together! Now don't bother me again tonight for anything less than an alien invasion!" This time, the link was broken by a slam rather than a simple click. Impulse rested his chin in his hands, and sighed. "Sheesh, touch-chee!" Behind him came a chortle from Red Tornado. "I don't see what's so funny," scowled Bart." "Of course you don't. That's part of the fun. " "So what am I supposed to do?" "If you are so eager to disguise yourself, I'm sure there's a can of spray-paint around someplace. I would be happy to assist you if you wish to go as a subway wall." "Forget it. Hey, this is the Justice League trophy room! There has to be something around here." The air crackled as the young speedster began exploring. "You children have done an admirable job of transforming this place into your own," remarked Red Tornado with bemusement. "The Cindy Crawford posters Superboy provided were an especially appropriate touch. And Robin brought over that entire trunk of equipment. I can't imagine that he'd need…" "Robin brought stuff over? Where?" asked Bart, then instantly located the trunk in question. He plucked out a black and yellow cape. "Awesome! Here's a spare suit!" "And you truly intend to borrow it?" "Why not?" asked Impulse, tugging on the tunic and leggings. "You heard him, he's not working tonight. I can have it back here before he even knows it's gone!" "Of course you can." Bart slid the utility belt around his waist, then pressed the mask over his eyes. "How do I look?" "Marvelous. This is destined to be a Halloween to remember." "All right! Later!" The boy departed in a crackle of lightning. Red Tornado shook his head. "Oh, yes, this is going to be a night to remember, to be sure."
"Whatcha think?" Bart reappeared at Carol's side. "Coolness!" Carol's eyes shone. "That looks great… I mean… It looks so real!" "It is." "You mean, it's really Robin's? The Robin?" "Uh-huh. " answered Bart, fidgeting with the mask. "Wow." "So, now what?" Carol handed him an extra bag. "Trick-or-treating." "We go up to houses and tell them we want candy?" "Basically." "And they just give it to us?" "That's right." "Sweet deal! Let's go."
Two hours and several subdivisions later, the pair's bags were bulging with the artificially-flavored fruits of their labors. "So, do we hit Wooddale next?" asked Bart, digging into his bag. "I've gotten about enough," answered Carol. "We should probably get to school. The party's starting." "OK." Bart tugged the orange wax paper off a piece of candy and popped it into his mouth. "Bleah!" he sputtered, spitting the peanut butter taffy onto the grass. "I told you, Bart, they taste just like the black ones. " "People really eat that stuff?" "Just at Halloween. It's cheap." Bart rummaged through his bag. "Is that all I have left?" he lamented. "You kept eating all the good stuff, between houses," Carol reminded him. "You want to trade for a Snickers?" Carol cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you nuts?" Bart sighed and began searching his bag again for something more palatable. "You know, Bart, " Carol went on. "If we show up at the party, with you as Robin, and me as Batgirl…" "Hey, here's something else!" Bart plucked out a small cellophane bag from the sea of empty wrappers. "Well, people might think we're… y'know, there together." "'Circus peanuts.' Are they any good?" Without waiting for a reply, he tore the wrapper open. "Bart, are you listening to me?" "Yeah. What's the big deal? We are going to the party together, aren't we?" "Well, yeah, but there's a difference between going to the party together, and going to the party together…" "Huh?" Bart popped the orange confection into his mouth and winced. "Yuck!" he said. "You sure you don't want to trade for a Snickers?" Carol sighed. "Never mind, Bart."
"And the prize for 'Best Costume' goes to… Bart Allen!" announced Mr. Sheridan. There was a rousing round of applause as Bart climbed up on the auditorium stage to accept the blue ribbon. "Al-len! Al-len! Al-len! Al-len!" whooped most of the student body, pumping their hands in the air. "Batgirl" settled for applauding politely, as she tried to squelch her mounting jealousy. Carol was having a good time, and was happy Bart was, too, but it bugged her that she had worked on her costume for weeks and hardly anyone had given her a second look. "OK, kids, that's all for our formal program," continued the assistant principal. "But there's still plenty of refreshments left, and our DJ will be back onstage shortly. In the meantime, y'all enjoy the party, and have a safe evening!" He exited the stage as "Monster Mash" began blaring over the sound system. Bart's schoolmates clamored around him as he returned. "Awesome suit, Allen," said one of the football team. "Lemmee see. What's this?" He plucked the batarang from Bart's belt. "Jeez, man, this thing's heavy! It's real metal!" "Uh-huh.." answered Bart, looking around for Carol. "Look at this!" exclaimed a girl named Rachel, who was wearing her cheerleader's uniform. She ran her finger along the R-dart on Bart's chest. "It's so….ow! Hey! That's sharp!" She popped her nipped fingertip into her mouth. Meanwhile, the football jock had tossed the batarang to a buddy with a shout of "Head's up!" and a merry game of keepaway was ensuing. "Sure it's sharp…. It's supposed to be!" insisted Preston. "Robin throws 'em at bad guys!" "No way!" "Yeah, he does, doesn't he, Bart?" Bart nodded in reply, as he glanced over his shoulder, trying to see how long the line at the punch table was. "Does it come off?" Preston continued, and tugged at it without waiting for a reply. "Watch this!" Carol slipped through the crowd to tug at Bart's sleeve. "Are you sure you should let them do that?" she whispered fiercely. Bart shrugged. "What's the problem?" "Hey, what's that under your cape?" asked another student. Bart obligingly slipped the three-part quarterstaff out of its sheath and assembled it. "Oooh!" squealed Kippie, captain of the school baton team. "Let me see!" She twirled the stick rapidly. "How positively neat! It whistles!" she beamed with delight as she tossed it above her head and the pitch rose as it spun. "Tiffany, put one of our songs on! If we used sticks like this at the regional championships…" One of her friends produced a different tape and handed it to the D.J. and Kippie began her routine, and yet another circle of students gathered to watch her. "So, Allen, what else you got in that thing?" asked another student. "Let's see…" Bart began opening compartment after compartment of his utility belt, distributing the contents to waiting hands. "Baaaart…" cautioned Carol, but she was overwhelmed by the teeming crowd. "Just don't break anything," said Bart. "I need this stuff back." Preston wormed his way back to Bart's side, having been outclassed in the darts contest he had started. "What's this on your glove, Bart?" "I'm not sure," Bart lifted his arm and peered at the mechanism. It looked like a smaller version of the batarang, attached to a thin line of some sort. "Well, what happens if you press this button?" Preston pointed, then pressed it. There was a soft "fwoosh" as the bolt shot from Bart's wrist, sailing into the air with the batline trailing behind it. It struck the mirrored globe above the dance floor, which was fortunately almost deserted thanks to the other activities going on in the room. Only a few students were forced to dive to avoid flying glass as the ball swayed and clattered to the floor. Unfortunately, one of those in the line of fire had a handful of Robin's smoke pellets in his hand. As the student careened into a classmate, the capsules flew from his hand and scattered through the air like snowflakes, bursting open with small pops as they hit the gym floor. To make matters worse, the student he crashed into had just been handed a bat-flare-pistol.
"Thanks to our level-headed faculty, the evacuation proceeded smoothly, and none of the students required hospitalization. The custodian assures me the gym will be ventilated soon, and classes can proceed as usual on Monday. However, we estimates the cost of repairs at…" Bart Allen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and fervently wished for the assistant principal's discourse to end. Then a glance at Max Mercury's burning eyes and furrowed brows quickly changed his mind, and he found himself hoping Mr. Sheridan would talk forever. "…the rules were made clear to all students. No exceptions to school policy would be made for the sake of 'authenticity' in a Halloween costume. No weapons of any sort. Nothing that could be used as a weapon, and that includes sharp metal objects and flare guns!" The assistant principal gestured at the line of confiscated items he had laid on his desk. "And Bart, you were certainly aware that smoke bombs and mace are strictly forbidden on school property!" Bart gulped but did not answer. "Look, I love Halloween as much as the next guy, but rules are rules. Mr. Crandall, this is most regrettable. Bart's a good boy, and I'm sure this is a one-time case of very poor judgment and excessive exuberance in light of the holiday…" "But…?" Max's voice was like acid. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to suspend your nephew, for one week. And I'd like him to meet with the guidance counsellor for at least one session before he returns to class." "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Sheridan." Max sighed as he stood and fixed his young charge with a glare. "Let's go, Bart." The walk home was at normal speed, which Bart was sure Max intended as a deliberate form of torture. Neither spoke, but Max's grip on the box of gadgets was white-knuckled. Bart held his nearly-empty bag of Halloween candy in one perspiring hand. Finally, they reached the front porch. "Max…" Bart began. His guardian whirled around to face him. "I don't want to hear it. I don't even want to know!" He placed the box in Bart's hands. "Just take this back to Gotham City, and return Robin's suit to him. We can discuss it later, after I've calmed down." "But Max, I didn't get the suit from…" "Just do it! NOW!" There was a crackle of lightening and the boy was gone. Max Mercury leaned against the porch railing and rubbed his eye wearily. "A full week at home…" he muttered. "That's supposed to be punishment for him?"
Post-quake Gotham City was a far cry from Manchester, Alabama. Although makeshift repairs had begun, most buildings were still in ruins, and canvas tents from various relief agencies had become the primary places were people gathered. Electricity was still fickle, and fire was the dominant source of light on the street. The night air bit with a chill very different from the balmy autumn evenings of the deep South and a cold salty fog had rolled in from the ocean, blending with the acrid smoke to make visibility near zero. It was enough to make even Bart Allen shudder as he paused to take in the sight. For a second, he almost considered just taking the suit back to Young Justice HQ, but he decided against it. Max had told him to come here, and Bart didn't want to compound his situation by disobeying. Besides, there was no point in giving Red Tornado a chance to laugh at him again. Better he just find Robin and get the hell out of here. Maybe he'd get lucky and White Lightning would attack Manchester or something before he got back. Question was, how to find Robin? Bart set his box down. He had no number to call, and there was no way anyone could see a Bat-signal in this fog. I'll just have to look until I find him, he reasoned loading the various crime-fighting gadgets back into Robin's utility belt and slipping the quarterstaff into its sheath. Oh well, how hard can that be? He's bound to be around here someplace…
Bart had scoped out about one third of the streets when there came a buzz on the communicator on his left glove. "Oracle to Robin, come in!" came a staticky female voice. Puzzled, Bart stopped and flipped up a cover to see to see a blurred and jerky image of a red-haired young woman. "Robin! Please respond!!" It took Bart several tries to figure out what button to press to answer her. "Hello?" he said uncertainly. "Thank heavens. My generator's on the fritz again; power's at a minimum… I can barely make you out." Bart wondered if this was the girl Robin was dating. "Look, I need your help. I'm worried about Huntress." "Huntress?" "Yeah, she's on the warpath. Word finally came down on who's behind the sabotage of the quake orphan's water treatment center… the Avanti clan. Apparently their people are helicoptering in a supply of bottled water tonight… and they wanted the black market prices as high as they could get them. But Huntress knew some of those nuns who got sick… and she's determined to get that shipment to people that got sick, no matter what! I need someone to make sure she doesn't go too far. Can you keep tabs on her?" "Uh… Well, you see…" "Robin, she could go over the top here…" "There's no one else who could help?" "I hate to squeal to ol' Pointy Ears… you know how he is about her. And Nightwing…I don't want him involved… I mean, I don't want to involve him, considering everything that hap… oh, never mind. Besides, he's probably occupied with matters in Blüdhaven, right? I'm sure he's incredibly busy…we really shouldn't bother him for something like this. You can take care of it, please?" Bart swallowed hard. "OK… find the Huntress. I can do that, I think." He decided he would look dumb if he asked what the Huntress looked like. "Great!" the communication grew even more staticky. "The copter's due in at 422 Harborside Drive in about a half hour. Good luck! Oracle out." Bart clicked the cover on his wrist communicator closed, took a deep breath and began racing down the streets of Gotham, looking for one named Harborside.
Gotham City has a lot more streets than Manchester, he realized before too long, as he paused for a breath. Maybe I should have started with the ones nearer the water… "Robin!" A woman's shout interrupted his thoughts and pushed that idea from his head. He turned to see a dark-haired police woman crouched behind a light-flashing squad car. "Thank God you're here!" she exclaimed, gesturing him toward her. Bart warily approached, and through the fog made out two other figures with her. "We've got a hostage situation, in the Free Clinic!" "Hostages?" Bart gulped. "Nothing doing, Montoya!" snapped the heavy-set cop behind her. "We don't need none of the costume freaks interfering! Scram, kid!" "OK," Bart agreed and turned to go. "Wait a minute!"Montoya grabbed his arm. "Harve, we're dealing with a kid in there! Robin's just what we need to get through to him." "Please, officers!" pleaded a tearful woman in civilian attire. "My Ulysses is a good boy!" "Then how come he's got a building full of hostages and enough weapons to make David Koresch jealous?" demanded Bullock. "He always loved Halloween," was the gushing reply. "He used to look so cute in his little toy soldier costume…" Bullock snorted in disgust. "Well, pardon me if I think he went a little too authentic this year!" "Is he going to get suspended from school, too?" "I think we're a bit beyond that, Robin," explained Montoya. "Dr. Thompkins was hosting her annual Halloween party for the neighborhood kids. As near as we can figure from the wiretap, he's got her and the staff tied up in the lobby. As for the kids… He's handing out loaded guns, trying to organize them into some sort of army, with him as the General!" "Last thing we heard before he cut us off was 'One Hundred Fifty-Fourth Street or fight!'" added Bullock. "Is that anywhere near Harborside Drive?" asked Bart. "After the quake… who knows?" grumbled Bullock. "I say we move in now and take him out!" "No, please… Let me talk to him again," begged the boy's mother." "Lady, you've been trying to sweet-talk the brat for an hour! It ain't gonna work!" "Harve, we've got three dozen kids who could get caught in the crossfire," pointed out Montoya. "Robin here has dealt with this kid before. Let's hear what he has to say." All three adults looked at Bart expectantly. "Uh," Bart swallowed hard. "Well, he doesn't have any powers, right?" So if we just got the guns and stuff away from him he couldn't hurt anybody." "You have a plan for disarming him, then?" asked Montoya? "I think I can do that, yeah." "Oh, yeah?" sneered Bullock. "How ya gonna do that? He's got a kid stationed at every entrance and window, armed to the teeth. If it weren't against policy to drill 10 year olds… Hey, where'd he go?" Robin had vanished into the fog. Montoya and Bullock exchanged glances, and Ulysses' mother wrung her hands. "Let's hope he knows what he's doing." said Montoya.
Bart sprinted across the street and through the walls of Leslie Thompkin's free health clinic, the lobby of which had been decorated with makeshift Halloween decorations. Three adults were tied in chairs and blindfolded, while a dozen or so costumed children, aged 5-10 stood at attention in two straight lines. Before them stood a young teen in military fatigues, his hair cut in a burr with several stars shaved onto the back of his head. "Company, alert! Present arms!" he barked, trying in vain to get his troops to perform letter-perfect drills. A few older children stood around, some with their weapons trained on the bound adults, others standing guard at various windows and doorways. Bart sped through the room in a blur, relieving each child of his or her weapon and replacing it with a piece of his leftover Halloween candy. It took all of them a second or two to recover from the shock, but when they did, their reaction was immediate. "Hey, where'd my gun go?" "No fair!" "Circus peanuts? Yecho!" "Sorry, kids!" Bart appeared beside the flabbergasted Ulysses. "That's all that's left!" "Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" bellowed the General, red-faced. "Destroy him!" "You'd have gotten better stuff if he and his pals hadn't tied up the nice doctor. He took all the good candy for himself, see?" Bart had replaced the General's own weapon with his last piece of edible candy, a miniature Nestles Crunch. The children erupted in fury and, moving as one, they advanced on their leader. "No, he's lying!" sputtered the General. "Aiiiiieeee!!" his shouts were lost in gurgles as his soldiers dragged him to the apple bobbing booth and plunged him in, headfirst. With his trick-or-treat bag now bulging with semi-automatic weapons, Bart headed back outside to Montoya and Bullock. This time he used normal speed, to protect his secret identity. "Here are the guns," he said, handing the bag to Montoya. "And you'd better get in there before they hurt your son." "Ulysses!" wailed his mother, taking off at full speed, with Bullock panting at her heels. Within a minute he radioed Montoya that the situation was secure. "Thank God," sighed Montoya. "Bullock was ready to call in the helicopters…" "Helicopters!" exclaimed Bart. "Sorry, I gotta go!" Montoya looked up from her walkie-talkie to find the Boy Wonder had vanished into the fog yet again. She smiled softly. "He takes after his old man, that's for sure."
A hundred or so streets later, Bart finally located a sign reading "Harborside Drive." The building that had once been 422 had been toppled, and the rubble bulldozed, leaving a vacant dirt lot surrounded by hefty chunks of crumbling concrete and other building materials. When Bart arrived, a large helicopter was puttering its way in for a landing. Bart quickly searched through the debris and located a woman in purple crouched in the foggy shadows. Stepping up behind her, he politely cleared his throat, and was forced to duck as she whirled, ready for a fight. "Jesus, kid, don't sneak up on me that way!" she snapped. "Sorry, Miss, uh, Mrs… Uh, ma'am." "And don't get fresh with me, either, twerp," was her answer. "Last think I need is a 14-year-old babysitter. I do what I have to, Bird-boy, and I don't need your help with this one! "You don't?" "Sounds like you should be home with a bowl of chicken soup anyway. You got a cold?" "Not exactly." The Huntress shook her head grimly. "It was bad enough when these bastards Bart shrugged. "That sounds cool." The Huntress raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Are you serious? You're with me? My, my, what would Batman say?" "I don't know." "Whatever, if you're on for the ride, kid. But Jerry Avanti is mine!" "OK." Bart crouched behind her as the helicopter blades stopped twirling. Seconds later a dump truck rattled up. Two men emerged and with the help of two others who had arrived in the copter, began transferring the clear plastic jugs. "So, do we bust 'em now?" asked Bart, stepping past the Huntress and heading toward the scene. "Hold it!" she snapped, snagging his arm. "Let them get it loaded… The quake orphan's home can always use a new truck. Besides, it looks like the Big Man's overseeing this drop-off himself." She pointed at a stretch limo that had just pulled up. A dark-suited man emerged, flanked by two bodyguards. Bart and the Huntress silently watched the transfer proceed. "You got somewhere to be, kid?" whispered Helena, finally. "You keep looking at your watch! "Well, kinda, yeah… " "Well, it's time to do what you do best, kiddo. Just leave Avanti to me! Once I have him… bust the others!" "OK." "You know, I'm tempted to give you a gold star for cooperation tonight. You really must have the flu!" The Huntress quipped, then silently climbed up a 12-foot high chunk of concrete. Bart watched her swiftly assemble a crossbow and mount it on her arm. Cool, he thought. I wonder if she knows Arrowette! A second later he appeared at her elbow. "You got bubble bath in that?" he asked, aloud. The Huntress squawked in surprise. "Kid, what are you…" That was all she had a chance to say as Avanti looked up. "There! Get 'em!" he barked. His men instantly aimed their automatic weapons. Bart and Helena both dove to the ground to avoid the hail of bullets. Helena scrambled for cover, with Bart close behind her. "What was that?" she gasped, when they had found a hiding place between a couple of scrap crates."Bubble bath? Did I really hear… This better be part of some brilliant scheme of yours, Boy Wonder!" "Scheme? I was just supposed to stop you from killing that guy." "Ever the Boy Scout. Now, just who is going to stop them from killing us?" "Hmmm… I hadn't thought of that." Helena shook her head in disbelief. "Robin, did you forget to take your Ritalin today or what?" "Be right back!" Bart wiggled his way out of their shelter and disappeared into the fog. He tried to estimate how long it would take Robin to disarm and tie up seven people at normal speed. Once he had taken care of the Avanti men, he planned to allow at least five minutes before he returned to the Huntress. After two minutes of standing there twiddling his thumbs while they cursed at him, he ran out of patience. "OK, it's safe to come out now, " he told Helena. "And here are the keys to the truck if you want to take that water to the hospital or something." "Kid, Boy Wonder or not, there's no way you could have…" Bart handed her the ring. "I really gotta go. Just don't kill anyone, OK?" "OK, OK, you've made your point…" Helena pushed past him, gasped in amazement at the sight of the bound crooks, then turned to find him gone. "Show-off…" she muttered.
Bart Allen continued his sprint up and down the streets of Gotham, searching for the real Robin. "Come on, where are you?" he whispered under his breath, his tone becoming one of desperation. As he sprinted down an alley, he stopped short. Batman stood tall and terrible in the shadows, his eyes fixed squarely on the young speedster. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a gravelly voice that left no doubt that he, at least, was not fooled by the disguise. Bart gulped and slipped off the mask as he regarded the Dark Knight. He seemed somehow much taller here than in Justice League headquarters. "Well, you see, I… I was going…" Batman's glare grew marginally fiercer. "Look, maybe you could just return this to Robin, OK?" Bart vanished in a crackle of lightning, leaving a small pile of spandex behind him.
Impulse ran straight home and directly to his room. He was in his pajamas and under the covers by the time Max Mercury appeared in his doorway. "Next Halloween, you are going to stay home and answer the door!" growled the Zen Master of Speed. Bart rolled over and buried his head under his pillows. "Sounds like a plan to me. "
All characters are ™ DC Comics
This story is © 1998 by Louise Freeman Davis.
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