Be There In a Flash (Speedster Male Reader)

Welcome to Beacon

Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth. The Flash belongs to DC.

Location: Beacon

Y/n Pov:

'I've been stuck in a parallel universe for five days. Now, sure I recovered, but something about my speed feels off.'

"Good morning Mister Garrick," a voice says, bringing me back to the land of the living. I look where the voice came from, and it's Professor Ozpin.

"Morning, Professor, what brings you here."

"I'm here because the doctors informed me that you made a full recovery, something I find quite remarkable considering the injuries you had."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"According to one of the doctors, you had numerous broken bones, internal bleeding, and moderate external bleeding. Normally someone with injuries similar to your own would have died before receiving proper treatment. You not only survived what gave you these injuries, but you made a full recovery in less than a week."

"I guess I'm a fast healer?"

"Perhaps," he takes a sip from his mug, "or, you aren't from Remnant, but that would be preposterous."

"How did you find out?" I ask.

"You landed in my office, breaking my desk and favorite mug in the process," he says the bit about the mug with thinly veiled anger in his voice.

"So, what's going to happen to me?" I ask. 'Please don't have me killed. Please don't have me killed. Please don't have me killed.'

"You, I have an offer for you."

"What kind of offer?" I ask with alarm bells going off in my head.

"An offer that will put a roof over your head for four years if you don't find a way home in that time."

"What's the catch? There's usually a catch with these deals."

"Only one, you will keep an eye on certain people of interest for me."

"That's it?" I ask.

"Well, you may want to use a pseudonym."

"Why do I have to use a fake identity?"

"Names like yours are only seen among the elderly ever since the end of the war."

"War, what war?" I ask, confused.

"The Great War, a horrible time to have been alive" is all the Professor says to answer my question.

"This world had one of those too, huh. Back where I'm from, some would assume you were talking about the first world war."

"Your world had one as well?" asks the Professor.

"We had two. My great-grandfathers fought in the first. My Grandfather served in the second," I scoff, "If there's one thing the people of my world are good at is starting wars and killing each other, but back to our previous topic, why four years?"

"Because that's how long training at a Huntsman academy lasts," explains the Professor.

"And you're offering a spot at your school to someone you barely know and have no clue about said person's ability," I ask him.

"You wouldn't be the first to come to my academy with no documented combat experience. You'd be the second; the first got in through falsified transcripts."

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean someone got in with fake transcripts."

"I was initially going to expel him, but during initiation, he proved to be a natural-born leader and tactician. He took notice of the strengths his fellow students had and formulated a strategy to defeat a Deathstalker."