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colehasapen · 3 years

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(ONE SHOT) I tried hating you but the anger is gone DC COMICS

A03

Barry remembers what it's like to be in love. He remembers the fluttery, soft feeling in his stomach when their hands brushed, the warmth in his cheeks when their eyes met across crowded rooms. He remembers gentle words and whispered promises, and he remembers holding his whole world in his hands. He remembers thinking to himself that they'd always have each other, that they'd be together through thick and thin.

Barry remembers being in love, and he remembers learning that love wasn't always good enough. Love wouldn't survive everything, and people wouldn't either.

Once, Barry had held his whole world in his hands, but that had made it all the more painful for it all to be ripped away. One thing after another, until there had been nothing left but tears, and rage, and suffering - his own, and that of others. It hadn't filled the gaping hole in his chest, hadn't made him feel better, but he had told himself no one else would feel that pain again if he could help it.

No one else would lose their child. No one else would have to see the boy they'd raised and loved like their own turn to dust in front of their eyes. No one else would have to sacrifice themselves.

No one else would have their mentor, the closest thing to a father they’d had for a long time targeted because of who they were connected to.

No one else would see a city reduced to rubble, and then learn afterwards that a member of their own family had burned with it, unable to outrun the blast.

No else else would have to want so desperately for the little life inside of them to grow up big and strong, only for it to be taken away from them because some bastard wanted them to hurt.

So Barry had stood back. He had stepped aside and stayed quiet and done as he was told because it meant that no more innocents would have to suffer. He'd beaten down his own morals and ripped away everything that made him a hero, because he'd sacrifice himself so that no one else would have to.

He'd turn himself into a monster if it meant that the fighting would end.

He could understand Superman's pain, his rage and anger, because Barry had felt them both, first when Wally had died to save the world, and again when Zoom had stolen that little blossom of hope he'd held inside of him. He could understand why Joker had to die, he could understand the leap in logic Clark had followed, because Lois and her baby had been innocent.

Innocence hadn't saved them, but Superman had promised them a world where it wouldn't happen again, if only they followed him.

Barry had always been a follower.

A follower, and a coward.

So Barry had followed. He’d followed Superman, he’d followed Hal; he followed them so far that he almost doesn’t recognize himself anymore. He’d once thought to himself that he’d follow them into hell, but he’d never thought it would be a hell of his own making. Barry had walked himself into failure, all while telling himself that he was trying to make the world a better place.

He’d lied to himself. He lied to himself after every death, after every injury and cruelty. He’d kept lying to himself, unwilling to see past his own suffering to see others hurting just as much because of his own actions. He’d clung so tightly to the illusion of peace that he’d ignored the bodies he was stepping over to get there.

He’d already lost Wally, he’d lost Jay, he'd lost Bart, he’d lost the baby, he'd even lost the Rogues, and he hadn’t wanted to lose anyone else.

But then he lost Iris.

Barry’d been in love with Iris for so long that he almost didn’t remember how not to love her, but she’d seen him for what he truly was, what he had been trying so desperately not to look at; a monster and a coward. She looked him in the eye and laid it all out, every single one of his failures, and then she walked away, and for once in his life, Barry hadn’t followed. He’d been angry, and hurt, and it had been a painful knot in his chest that made it hurt to breath as all those soft fluttery feelings turned caustic and poisonous.

Barry had been in denial, but his eyes had begun to see past the illusions he’d made himself.

Nothing she had said was a lie.

When Iris had left them, Barry had turned around and clung so tightly to Hal that he’s surprised he hadn’t choked the Lantern. He knows now that Hal had been struggling just as much as he had been, had been floundering after the loss of Wally, their child, and then Iris, but all Barry had seen at the time was someone to hold onto. He’d been grabbing for any stability he could, and Hal had been there. Hal had always been his rock, just as Barry had always been a beacon to guide him home, but loss had sent them both into free fall, and neither of them knew that they didn’t have a safety net until they hit the unforgiving ground.

This time, it was Barry who walked away.

Shazam - Billy’s death had been the last straw. He had been the one to finally shatter the world Barry had built for himself.

Superman had killed a child.

Barry couldn’t look away anymore, he couldn’t avert his eyes or plug out the sounds again.

So he had started to listen again, he started to act instead of follow.

Barry saves people again, and it had started with Batman, back even before Billy. It had started with Bruce; Bruce who was Barry’s friend, Bruce who Barry was supposed to hate - but Barry’s too empty for hatred.

He had been angry for so long that he wonders if he’ll ever feel anything again.

Changing sides isn’t easy, but Barry never thought it would be. He turns his back, he walks away from Hal. He asks Hal to come, to leave Superman behind and become a hero again, and when he refuses Barry ignores Hal pleading with him to stay with him. It hurts to leave Hal, it’s agony to hear the terror in his voice when he’d told him there was no leaving Superman, but Barry can’t stay anymore. Hal won’t come with him, and Barry walks away. He knows he’s not going to be welcomed among Batman’s rebellion with open arms, he’s spent too long following behind Superman for that to happen, but he doesn’t let the cold reception get to him, doesn’t let the ache in his jaw stop him.

He needs to make it right after all, even if it’s likely none of them will ever trust him again. Even if it’s likely he’ll never wash the blood from his hands, the least he can do is try to prove to them that he’s genuine. To prove that he wants to repent for what he let happen, for what he did, and the people who died because Barry was too cowardly to make his voice heard, or too blind to see.

Bruce’s people don’t trust him, but Barry doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t even trust himself anymore. He lets them put the monitor on him, he lets them glare and whisper. He can feel them watching him, he sees the way they shy away, he knows the doubt. He doubts himself too, he wonders, sometimes, that if it starts getting too hard, will he fall back into the habits he’d developed? Will he kill again if things get too slow, too irritating?

Who will suffer if Barry has a bad day?

They’re afraid of him.

Barry’s afraid of him too. He’s afraid of what he could do, he’s afraid of what he’s done. He’s afraid that someday he’ll go too far again, and he’s afraid that once he starts on that road again, he won’t be able to turn back. He’s already lost everything, and he’s afraid that someday, he’ll decide to throw away whatever is left.

Some days, all that fear gets to be too much for him to handle. Everything gets to be too much. The memories and the what-ifs rise in a tidal wave that not even he can outrun, and they sweep him back out to the sea of misery. He drowns in it.

He just wants it all to end.

It’s during one of these episodes that Batman finds him.

Barry’s folded himself into a dark corner, his head buried in his knees as everything gets to be too much. Sometime, in between the moment his heart and started hammering in his chest and the world had started to get fuzzy, he’d ripped off the helmet, and his hands had found their way into his hair where he’d started to pull as the weight on his chest grew to be crushing. He’s probably vibrating, a distant part of Barry knows, and it’s probably set off one of the many alarms Batman has linked to him, but Barry can’t bring himself to care. All he can think of is the empty yellow and red suit, the warped helmet, the hole where Metropolis used to be. All he can hear is the ragged sound of his own breathing and the voices of the doctors telling him the baby hadn’t survived Zoom’s attack.

He remembers that kid, the one who had thought he was strong enough to fight back, the one who had wanted to do the right thing, and the sound of his back breaking when Wonder Woman and Superman put him down with the intention of keeping him down.

Barry could have stopped them.

But he didn’t.

All he did was watch, and then run away when it got too much and he’d seen the face of a kid who learned that his idols weren’t heroes any more.

He wants it to stop.

“Flash.”

He’d go back if he could. Bruce had told him to restart everything, but Barry had been too scared then, that he’d just make everything worse.

“Flash!”

Why shouldn’t he? It would be easy to just start running. He’d erase himself from the timeline, and maybe the next Barry would be better . Maybe the next Barry wouldn’t fail everything and everyone.

Maybe the next Barry would be fast enough.

“Allen!”

Better yet, maybe the Speed Force would decide that he was unworthy, and Barry Allen wouldn’t survive the lab accident that had given him his powers.

“God dammit - Barry! Snap out of it.”

Barry comes back to himself with a stinging cheek and a gasp. He feels like there’s cotton stuffed in his head, like there’s a vice in his chest and a knife in his guts. Batman - no, that’s Bruce, the helmet is off - is kneeling in front of him, hands on Barry’s shoulders and expression drawn with stress, making the premature age lines all the more obvious around his stormy eyes.

“I-” Barry wheezes, blinking tears out of his eyes as he stares at Bruce in shock, then at where the vigilante’s hands are resting on his shoulders. The warmth of the touch is seeping through his costume, it makes his skin tingle even with the layers between them, and Barry wonders almost hysterically how long it had been since someone had willingly touched him without intending to hurt him. “Bruce?” His voice is a choked rasp, and with a panic dissipating, the numbness starts to set in again.

The touch, however, stops it from settling in.

Bruce is frowning at him. When was the last time he had smiled? When was the last time any of them had had something to smile about?

Barry used to like it when he smiled.

“What just happened?” Bruce demands, but despite the harsh tone, the hands on his shoulders are still gentle, and Barry can only blink at him, a little dumbly. He’s a little too busy thinking about how nice the warmth of another person’s touch is to really give Bruce’s words much thought. “Barry.”

Barry jolts, “I - uh-” he stutters, “-sorry.”

Bruce’s frown is easing slightly, back into that emotionless mask that he’d been wearing for - how long had he been wearing it? He’s studying Barry now, like he’s trying to gauge how much of a threat he is now that Bruce had seen him panicking. “Does that happen often?” He asks blankly, and Barry shakes his head, a little frantic.

“No!” He says desperately; he needs to stay on Batman’s good side. He needs to put his best foot forward, after all the shit he’s put Bruce through over the years. He just wants to do at least one thing right in his life.

Hal and Iris aren’t here to guide him through his attacks. He doesn’t have a lightning rod to draw him back anymore.

“No - no, it’s just - I’ll be fine once the shaking stops.” Barry tells him, “I’m sorry.”

Bruce is still staring at him, “How long has it been happening?”

Barry lets out a bitter, shaky laugh, “Years.” He says, arms moving to curl around his stomach, and he sees Bruce’s eyes follow the movement, sees the moment Earth’s greatest detective connects the dots. He’d had a front row seat to what state Barry had been in after Zoom’s attack had almost killed him. Barry knows he’d been in the Watchtower when Barry had been brought in, covered in blood and barely hanging onto consciousness because he hadn’t been able to fight back against the other speedster. Batman would have seen the medical reports when they’d been added to his file, would have known the extent of the damage Barry’s body had taken.

He knows what Barry had lost. He knows just how much Barry had personally related to Superman.

Bruce is quiet for a long moment, studying Barry as the shaking slows, and his hands stay on his shoulders, a grounding influence that helps the speedster drag himself out of the storm of emotions he had fallen into. Bruce has always been good at it, helping Barry slow down; it’s always been something that Barry’s been grateful for, and he’s been missing the other man’s influence and presence in the last years.

Back when he’d first noticed that Superman wasn’t listening to them anymore, he’d wished that Batman were there, because Bruce had always been the one that Superman would turn to. The one they’d all turn to if they needed someone to talk them down from something, to point out when their logic was flawed; Bruce had always been the best of them, no matter how much the man hadn’t believed them when they’d said it.

None of this would have happened if they’d just listened to Bruce.

“You told me once to change the timeline.” Barry says helplessly, staring up at Bruce with pleading eyes. What he’s pleading for, he doesn’t know; condemnation? Permission? Just someone to hold him?

Slowly, Bruce nods his head, an acknowledgement of the statement, “And you told me that it was something you’d only consider once we’d already exhausted all of our options.” He points out.

Barry’s laugh is almost hysterical in response, “I could just make everything worse.” He says shakily, “But what difference would that make? Everything’s already fallen apart.”

“True.” Bruce agrees, “But there’s still hope we can do better. That we can fix this. We can’t give up that chance just yet.”

It’s almost ironic hearing this from Bruce, a known realist. Barry had always been the hopeless dreamer, the one who always tried to see the bright side in a situation, the one who always urged the others to do the same. But now? After everything that had happened, everything he had lost, everyone who had suffered? Barry can’t see any possible light in their dark world.

“We’re not just fighting for ourselves, Barry. Or the people we’ve lost.” Bruce’s hands tighten on his shoulders, “We’re fighting for a future for everyone else on this planet. A future where they can make their own choices and no one has to live in fear of being heard saying the wrong thing.”

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.” He admits, “I don’t know how I can fix what I’ve done.”

“All any of us can do is try.” Bruce tells him quietly, and Barry meets his eyes, blue to blue. He sees the sadness there, the numbness and helplessness that he knows all too well. They’d both lost everything; their children, their friends, their futures. Anything they had planned for themselves had fallen apart. They’d lost love and friendship to anger, and to hate, and then they’d lost that too.

What more could they lose?

When Bruce starts pulling away from him, Barry rocks forward almost desperately, not wanting to lose the tiny connection they had made, not wanting to let Bruce slip away from him again after getting a glimpse at the man he had cared for after so long of nothing. He stops at the last second, however, and he stays where he lands on his knees, staring up at Bruce as the man slowly offers him a hand.

“Come on.” Bruce’s voice washes over him, “We’ve got work to do.” Bruce is watching him with a quiet seriousness, the same loneliness Barry feels echoed in his eyes.

He’s offering him a choice.

And Barry?

He takes the hand, and he chooses the future Bruce sees.

#cole writes #DC comics #injustice: gods among us #brubarry #bruce wayne #Barry Allen #trans barry allen #halbarry #westallen #bruce wayne/barry allen #barry allen/bruce wayne

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rinjikunn · 7 years

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Batflash mMMM YEAH

#DC #dc cinematic universe #dceu #justice league #justice league movie #Barry Allen #the flash #Bruce Wayne #Batman #batflash #brubarry #batman x flash #chibi #couple #pairing #shipp #sketch color #doodle

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m-artsoul · 2 years

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18/11/22

flustered

“Even years after their first kiss, after years of seeing and getting to know Bruce in a different, more intimate light, he kept on re-discovering his secrets over and over again. Everyday brought a new thing to the table. Old memories, hobbies, things he loved, things he was ashamed of. Every kiss left behind a slightly different flavour, every touch felt like it came from a different lover. Sometimes it left him breathless and drunk from the attention, sometimes it was as simple and impersonal as a pat on the back. No matter what, there was only one sentence that twirled around his head.

'I can't get enough of you,' he whispered so quietly that even he couldn't quite recognise his own voice.”

another small fragment from my batflash fic

#art #batflash #batman #bruce wayne #barry allen #flash #dc comics #brubarry #fanart #digital #full color #waist #2022

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old-fic-recs · 4 months

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run me through (orphaned)

Barry handles his emotions about as badly as he handles most things. Bruce, as always, is painfully inscrutable. It seems fitting that Barry would set himself up for disaster.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Justice League (2017); DC Cinematic Universe

Relationship: Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne

Characters: Barry AllenBruce Wayne; Diana (Wonder Woman)

Additional Tags: First Time; First Kiss; Hand Jobs; Wall Sex

Published: 2017-11-27

Words: 3,908

#fic rec #dceu #snyderverse #brubarry #batflash

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mattzerella-sticks · 2 years

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the gossip column (ao3)

Batman/Flash, 2k words, GA

Breaking News! Bruce Wayne has been spotted cavorting across Paris with an unknown man. Could Gotham's playboy prince be finally settling down?

If only they knew the truth...

Living rich was something Barry could become accustomed to quite easily.

Though not wealthy as he had been, Bruce’s lifestyle was still way above Barry’s means, especially since Barry had fallen from a two-income household to a no-income temporary apartment above an old corner store in Central. When Bruce sent out the alert asking for an assist on an undercover mission, Barry accepted without hesitation. Any destination would be better than where he was then. Barry lucked out when Bruce explained they were heading across the Atlantic to crash an underground auction of the Parisian elite instead of something worse, like sneaking into Darkseid’s inner sanctum on Apokolips. Even better that they’d be conducting this operation from an upscale hotel along the Seine. Bruce only had enough in his budget to afford one room, but Barry didn’t mind. It made sense with their cover as newlyweds on honeymoon.

“You don’t mind?” Bruce had asked him this after running through the plans. He’d handed over his ticket, the fake driver’s license and passport for his new identity, except he hadn’t let go yet. “Being married to me?”

Barry scoffed. “I could do much worse, Bruce.”

That was a week ago. They flew back into Gotham late last night. Barry could have run to Central from the airport then, or as they left the hotel. There wasn’t anything stopping him from leaving once Bruce turned to him and said, “Mission accomplished,” either. He chose not to. Barry told Bruce that, since he already bought the ticket, and because it wasn’t often he flew first class, Barry wanted to milk the benefits of being married to him for all that it was worth. Bruce seemed to accept his answer, and his excuse about being too tired from jetlag to make the second-long run. Bruce offered Barry his guest room, too.

“I hope I’m not putting you out.”

“You’re not,” Bruce said, “Besides, I owe you for helping me with this.”

Despite being a guest room the bed was king-sized, and its sheets were silk. Barry melted into it after his long, pressurized, warm shower in the ensuite and flew, rather than drifted, into sleep. He woke hours later. Barry hadn’t set an alarm. He rose when his consciousness was able to dig itself free from the expensive sand trap it had sunken into. It was the best he’d ever slept since he could remember, definitely before the accident that gave him his powers. Having the room to himself was a definite plus, too. Bruce and he hadn’t shared the bed during their stay, but sleep was fitful given how obnoxiously Bruce’s snoring was as it floated up from Bruce’s encampment on the floor. Barry used to be better dealing with nightly disturbances. Iris kicked in her sleep, back when they shared a bed.

He dragged his hand across the empty space of the bed. It was soft and cold underneath his palm.

Suddenly, the rich lifestyle had lost its appeal. Any desire to spend further time in bed had disappeared.

He rose. Barry dressed in the outfit he wore yesterday, then made sure his bags were packed and in order for his return to Central. There wasn’t much waiting for him at his apartment, but he’d rather wallow there than in Bruce’s townhouse. Besides, he played out the fantasy longer than he should have. The honeymoon was over. He had to go.

But it’d be rude if he vanished without thanking Bruce for his hospitality.

Barry sighed. First, he’d find Bruce, say goodbye, and then leave. He dropped his bags and headed out of the room.

There was no mistaking the smell of bacon as he entered the hallway, nor the snap and crackle of it sizzling on the frying pan, so Barry headed for the kitchen. Bruce was there, standing in front of the stove. He was behind the bacon, and the eggs that were cooling in a porcelain bowl to the right and the coffee percolating in the nearby coffee machine. Bruce glanced at Barry and gestured to the island with a quick nod. “Why don’t you take a seat, breakfast is almost ready.”

Barry shifted on his feet. “You didn’t have to –“

“Nonsense.” Bruce clicked the oven off, lifting the pan onto a different, inactive burner. “I don’t often have anyone to cook for other than myself these days. Consider it doing me another favor.”

He carried on with preparing breakfast and, since Barry really hadn’t anywhere to be in a hurry, he sat where Bruce directed him to.

Barry watched him work from his perch. This Bruce was unfamiliar to him. Firstly, he hadn’t have guessed Bruce would take to domesticity in such strides. Without Alfred, Barry knew Bruce was forced to adapt and adjust. He just assumed Bruce’s culinary skills were limited to sandwiches. From the smell of it all, Barry was glad to be wrong.

Bruce also looked softer, too. Though this was less surprising to him. They were in each other’s company at all hours in the past few days, and Barry saw him in all sorts of dress, especially this. Tee shirt and sweats, bare feet and flat, dark hair fresh after a shower. It was different now that they were in Bruce’s home. None of it seemed like part of the story they were acting in and had Barry considering some of those quiet moments in a new light. Like how, when it was the two of them and Barry noticed how there were less shadows hiding in Bruce’s eyes, Barry figured Bruce had hidden them for his, and the mission’s, sake.

How could you pretend to be the happy husband when your eyes were mired in such darkness? It was a question Barry had been thinking about recently, once he spotted a similar fog rolling into his gaze.

Except Barry was wrong about Bruce. Again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

His reflection was broken, mercifully so, as Bruce slid a plate and mug in front of him with a soft order to eat.

As he already noted, it smelt delicious. “It looks delicious,” he said, too. Barry speared an egg bite, a piece of bacon, and brought both to his mouth. The flavor set off a series of explosions across his tongue that caught him off guard and made him his head dizzy.

It really was delicious.

He stuffed his face with more, and then more, and suddenly he was asking for seconds all while Bruce hadn’t even started on his.

That didn’t matter to him. Bruce pushed his plate towards Barry with a small chuckle. “No,” Barry tried returning it. Bruce prevented him from doing so. “I can grab my own –“

“You’re my guest.” Bruce told him. Then, glancing elsewhere, he murmured. “Alfred would’ve done the same, then make me get my own plate anyway.”

There wasn’t any arguing with Bruce after that. Barry accepted the plate and let Bruce assemble a new plate for himself. He ate slower, now. He focused more on drinking the coffee than eating. It was easy to. Barry hadn’t realized Bruce knew how Barry liked his coffee.

He wanted to ask him when he’d pieced it together, but before he could – and before Bruce finished plating his breakfast – Bruce’s phone rang. Bruce answered it without bothering to look at who it might be. “Barbara,” he said, “what’s the problem?” Barry couldn’t hear her respond. He wished he did as the relaxed expression on Bruce’s face slipped away and was replaced with a tenser set of features Barry was familiar with. Bruce set his half-full plate on the counter and walked out of the room.

Barry stayed in the kitchen. He considered following Bruce, to see how he could help or even learn what was the matter.

He didn’t have to move, though. Bruce returned soon after he left, his phone gone and a tablet in his hands, apologizing and saying, “You have to see this.”

“What is…” Barry trailed off as his eyes latched onto the image of him on the tablet’s screen. Him and Bruce. Together, in Paris. Underneath the headline ‘FORMER WAYNE ENTERPRISES CEO BRUCE WAYNE, LOST THE ‘LLION’ BUT KEPT THE ‘BI’?’ It was the leading news story on the Gotham Gazette’s website. They were also featured on the Daily Planet, the New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle and many, many other new sites. Central City’s Picture News also covered it, the only publication able to correctly identify him other than “unknown man”. He searched the byline. Iris hadn’t written the story. At least there was some silver lining.

“What? Was it a slow news day or something…” His joke didn’t land. Barry hadn’t expected it to. Still, he figured he needed to respond.

“It’s… worse.” Bruce slid his phone over now and tapped on its screen. When it lit up, Barry saw the hundreds of notifications that had been blowing up his phone. Dick. Jason. All his children. Clark and Diana had reached out, too, and lots of their other friends amongst the many reporters and columnists.

And if they were reaching out to Bruce…

Barry zipped out of the room and returned between one second and the next with his own, active phone. Like Bruce, his friends and family were all reaching out with questions about what they’ve seen. If what they read was true. If Barry truly was in a relationship with Bruce Wayne. He quickly scanned through his messages. Iris wasn’t one of them.

Silver linings.

Bruce cleared his throat. Barry set his phone face down on the island beside his cooling seconds. Neither said anything as the situation settled in their minds. The tablet hadn’t been turned off yet. A picture of them laughing from last week stared back, almost mocking.

It’d be easy to flip it over, or power it down. Barry did neither.

It was Bruce who acted first. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

Barry sighed. “It’s not like you could’ve predicted this would happen.”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“As much as we tease you about it,” Barry told him, “you don’t have to have a plan for… everything.”

Bruce nodded and sipped at his coffee. His gaze was downcast, and he couldn’t meet Barry’s eyes. “So,” he said, “how do you want to handle this?”

“There’s a way to handle this?”

“Well…” Bruce’s shoulders rose and pinched his head as he explained the lengths they could go to in covering up. Barbara had the hardest and most important part to play, scanning the whole of Paris for any evidence of their stay and deleting it. What Bruce and Barry would do was simpler. Statements from the both of them denying any hint of a relationship being between them. “We were strangers who happened to share a table as we were both eating alone,” Bruce said, “not lovers. Not newlyweds. That’s all.”

“That’s all…”

Finally Bruce looked at him. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, no. It’s good. But…”

“But?”

Heat crept up Barry’s neck. Suddenly, what he had thought during Bruce’s containment strategy seemed stupid, a response spurred by an improbable fantasy because he couldn’t help himself imagine what it might be like. Or, possibly, because the loneliness had gotten to him after months of it. The reason why didn’t matter. It wouldn’t work either way. Yet Barry already tipped the domino over. He must continue. “What if…” Barry now avoided Bruce’s gaze, watching the coffee rippling in his mug because his hands couldn’t stop shaking. “What if he we let it ride?”

“Come again?”

“I’m just saying is… is this really a bad thing?” His mouth kept going though he begged for it to stop. “It’s gossip. Nothing more. I’m sure this can blow over after a week or so, and then we can quietly break up or something and that’ll be the end of that.”

“Really?” Bruce’s voice dripped with sarcasm that Barry was splashed with it. He was forced to acknowledge his own inanity and glanced at the other man’s face for confirmation. However there wasn’t any derision there. Bruce was bashful and, somehow, disbelieving. “You think you could stand being married to me for a few months more?”

It was a bad idea. Barry didn’t have any others, though.

He clinked their mugs together. “I could do worse.”

#batman #flash #bruce wayne #barry allen #brubarry #bruce x barry #batflash #batflash fanfiction #dcu

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mattzerella-sticks · 1 year

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discretionary funds (pre-Bruce/Barry, Nightwing POV)

G, 1.5k, (ao3 link)

Dearest Richard,

In the event of my death, I have named you the sole beneficiary to my estate. I know that you will spend the money wisely. However, I do have one request as to where a portion of these funds may go. For the longest time, I have been paying a select group of people to laugh at your father's jokes so that he may believe he has a decent sense of humor. To my knowledge, he is not aware. And I ask that it remains that way. Enclosed you will find a list of people who have agreed to the terms of service along with what I usually paid out to them.

With warm regards, Alfred

Dick had been doing his best to honor Alfred's request. When Bruce relayed an anecdote to him that, he claimed, Barry found hilarious, Dick suspected that Barry - who hadn't been on the list - was one of the many people Alfred had been paying off. He didn't expect Barry to turn down his money when the time came for Dick to pay.

Dick had been taking meetings all around the tower that day. If he had stationed himself in one section, in one room, behind a desk for every single exchange he would get nothing accomplished. Instead, Dick texted each appointment his whereabouts whenever they had shifted and let them come to him. He was halfway up the bar when Barry arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” Barry said, “there was this whole bank robbery thing, with the Tricksters.” He waved his hand around flippantly. “I won’t bore you with the details.”

Dick finished his rep and then released his grip on the bar. He smiled at the other man, grabbing for a nearby towel and patting dry the swathes of richly tanned skin that hadn’t been sopped by the thin, blue muscle tank he wore. “No problem.” Dick dragged it along the sinewy lines of his arms and across his chest. Then, he looped the terrycloth over her neck and pulled it taut with both hands. “Wally warned me something like that might happen. So I added leeway to account for Barry Standard Time.”

“Barry Standard Time…” Barry had only been inside the gym for a minute, but he already began to sweat. He tugged at the collar of his button-down, prying a button loose and pulling the knot of his tie down. Dick liked exercising in high temperatures. “I hate how that’s a thing.”

“Want to stop making it a thing? Show up on time more.”

“Is that why you called me here?”

“No, definitely not for that.” Dick nodded for Barry to follow him as they walked towards Dick’s duffle bag.

He whipped the towel into the bag and snagged the checkbook he’d left on top before it slid to the floor. Dick wasn’t able to save the pen. Luckily someone else could. The telltale whooshing of a speedster’s run breezed past him and tickled the hairs at his neck. He turned and saw Barry fiddling with the pen he’d been using throughout all his meetings. Barry tilted it in one direction, watching the whale slowly drift through goo. He reversed course. The whale tumbled backwards. Gar had gotten it for him during a weekend with Rachel in San Diego.

Barry offered Dick the pen. “What’s with the checkbook for?”

“For picking up where Alfred left off.”

“Come again?”

Dick took his pen from Barry and flipped it open to where he’d already written his name. “How much did he usually offer you?”

His pen hovered over the tiny rectangle as he waited for Barry to throw out a number. Except he never did.

He glanced up from his checks to see Barry staring at him, confusion screwing with his features. His brows were drawn tightly together, creasing the ridge between them. His nose had scrunched, and his bottom lip jutted forward in an extreme pout. “Offer me what?” he asked, “What did… you think Alfred owed me?”

Dick tapped the check. A tiny blue dot marred its surface. “Your fee.”

“My fee for… what, exactly?”

“For laughing at Bruce’s jokes?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You –“ Dick studied the other man for any cracks in his façade, to ensure he wasn’t being messed with. There wasn’t any. His shock was genuine. He folded his checkbook closed and pointed at Barry with it. “You mean to tell me you hadn’t any idea this was happening?”

Barry shrugged. “Not a clue.”

“But you…” Dick poked him with the edge of his checkbook. “You laugh at Bruce’s jokes.”

“Because they’re funny.” Lightning sparked around the edges of Barry’s eyes, his brain working overtime as it put the pieces together. “Wait, are you suggesting Alfred used to pay people to laugh at Bruce’s jokes?”

When Barry said it like that, plainly, it did sound pretty absurd. Dick, himself, had a similar opinion after Alfred tasked him with continuing this duty conditional to him receiving his inheritance. But there was a list of names in his checking log, and another that he hadn’t even talked to yet whose names were scratched onto checks he still held onto, that thought the whole operation ordinary.

Maybe, when he noticed Barry’s name left off the list Alfred included, Dick should have realized he wasn’t forgotten by mistake.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long had Alfred been paying people?”

Dick cringed as he remembered what Alfred had typed in his confession, the answer getting caught in his throat as he tried to voice it. Dick coughed. It tumbled out and laid, depressingly, at their feet. “Since the Justice League was formed.”

“Since the –“ Barry’s eyes went wide. “He’s been paying people for that long?” He pulled on his tie while he spoke, causing the knot to grow smaller and smaller. “And people take these bribes? They – they –“

“They’re not all bribes.” Dick mentioned, flicking open the cover of his checkbook. “I mean, some people – like Hal and O’Brien – sure, those are straight up bribes. But Clark, Diana… they had me cut my checks out to different charities. And Wally told me he’s been putting the checks into the twins’ college funds like all the others.”

“Wally’s been getting paid to laugh at Bruce’s jokes, too?” Barry gaped at Dick. “How far down does this go?”

“You… aren’t going to like the answer to that.”

Barry’s astonishment faded soon enough, replaced with a sense of indignance. “Bruce doesn’t know about this, does he?”

“I mean…” Dick scratched at his chin with the pen. He briefly considered Bruce was aware of what Alfred had done for him. But then he recalled a conversation he had shared with Alfred from years before, during a time when Dick and Bruce lived under the same roof. Dick was a bit annoyed with Bruce for some perceived slights. Alfred reminded Dick that sons rarely know about the things their fathers do for them. Bruce was as surprised as Dick had been when he learned that Dick was the sole beneficiary to Alfred’s estate in his will. He would bet that there were more things neither of them knew about the man, too. “If he knew, do you think I’d be here handing out checks?”

“Why are you doing this anyway?” Barry asked. “Why not tell him what Alfred had been doing all these years?”

“Because…” Dick broke his contest with Barry and looked elsewhere, his gaze landing on a few weights stacked in a pyramid. “Don’t you think that’d hurt? If he found out his friends were being paid to laugh at his jokes? You know him. He’d start wondering what else they were being paid to agree with, listen to, et cetera et cetera.”

“I also know he’d appreciate his friends – his family – being honest with him.”

“Hey, none of us kids are on the list,” Dick told him. “Besides, it looks like there are people who think he’s actually, genuinely funny.” His stare had flickered back to Barry, pinning him there with its intensity.

Barry squirmed uncomfortably while trapped underneath it. “I can’t be the only one, though.”

“Well… in terms of heroes you are.” Dick folded his arms as he ran through the list in his head for the umpteenth time. “He also paid a few civilians, too. Lucius. Dent, back when he was on the level. A few other Wayne employees and high society folk. Don’t ever remember seeing Julie Madison’s name crop up… or Sasha… Selina was on there, for a bit, but she asked Alfred to stop including her at some point.” There were pieces of a puzzle being clearly laid out on the table that Dick couldn’t quite fit together in a way that satisfied him. “And, well, Ghost-Maker surfaced after Alfred’s death… but I don’t think he’d need the money either given how much of it he has.”

Whatever picture Dick had been trying to see, Barry must have gotten a full glimpse of it. His mouth formed a taut line as his lips pressed flat against each other, and his cheeks tinged the faintest bit of red. “That’s… hmm – that’s interesting.” Barry pulled his wrist forward, as if to check the time. Dick noticed that it was the wrist that wasn’t wearing a watch. “I’ve got to go.”

“You do?”

“I have a meeting back in Central that I – that I don’t want to be late to.” Barry regained his composure somewhat, despite his gaze still being unable to meet Dick’s. “I… I won’t tell Bruce about this. But maybe talk with some of the folks you do pay and figure out why they don’t find his jokes funny or… if the money’s even worth it?”

Dick figured it was worth a shot. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

Barry zoomed away from Dick in his next blink without saying goodbye. Dick wasn’t offended. Rather, it added to his theory that there might be a common link that all the people who found Bruce funny shared. If he figured out what that was, he could share it with the heroes and end Alfred’s series of payments for good.

He started examining what he already knew about the small circle of those that found Bruce funny as he waited for his next appointment to find him.

#dcu #dc comics #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #barry allen #batman #nightwing #the flash #batman x flash #bruce wayne x barry allen #batflash #batflash fanfic #brubarry #brubarry fanfic

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