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Jan. 13th, 2009 03:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beforeyoucanblinkWhen he sets foot through his Door, Bart pushes the bar and Jenny out of his head and regroups: Thad knows his name. It obviously means something, but he has no clue why or what. (Unless his parents are looking for him. But his parents aren’t looking for him, and why would they have a speedster?)
So he needs to find Thad. Find out what’s up. Speedsters aren’t exactly easy to find when they don’t want to be, but:
He can try.
--
He starts by asking around; Thad struck him as the type of kid who lives on or near enough to the streets. Maybe he’s been hanging around the area for a little while; it’s worth a shot. It’s all he’s got, for that matter.
He gives out a description: about his height, blond hair, seventeen or so, goes by the name of Thad. When that doesn’t work, he expands his horizons. Homeless shelters. Foster kids. Schools. Popular local hangouts. Have you seen him?
He’s about to give up, let whatever’s going to happen happen without interference; he can deal with it when it comes. Then, somehow, he finds himself at the pizza place again.
And there he is. Glancing at the streets, jittery, fingers tapping against his jeans. Bart storms over to him. “What the hell was up with that? Who are you? What are you doing he-“
He should’ve been paying attention. Fingers, jittery, hypodermic needle in his hand. He moves just a split-second too late to do anything, hand out to catch himself, he’s tired and everything’s too much effort, he’s
(Thaddeus Thawne hoists the dead weight in his arms. “Get the hell out of my life,” he says, broken, frustrated, and takes off before anyone who might have seen can react.)
So he needs to find Thad. Find out what’s up. Speedsters aren’t exactly easy to find when they don’t want to be, but:
He can try.
--
He starts by asking around; Thad struck him as the type of kid who lives on or near enough to the streets. Maybe he’s been hanging around the area for a little while; it’s worth a shot. It’s all he’s got, for that matter.
He gives out a description: about his height, blond hair, seventeen or so, goes by the name of Thad. When that doesn’t work, he expands his horizons. Homeless shelters. Foster kids. Schools. Popular local hangouts. Have you seen him?
He’s about to give up, let whatever’s going to happen happen without interference; he can deal with it when it comes. Then, somehow, he finds himself at the pizza place again.
And there he is. Glancing at the streets, jittery, fingers tapping against his jeans. Bart storms over to him. “What the hell was up with that? Who are you? What are you doing he-“
He should’ve been paying attention. Fingers, jittery, hypodermic needle in his hand. He moves just a split-second too late to do anything, hand out to catch himself, he’s tired and everything’s too much effort, he’s
(Thaddeus Thawne hoists the dead weight in his arms. “Get the hell out of my life,” he says, broken, frustrated, and takes off before anyone who might have seen can react.)
