[ Bruce doesn't do a lot of explaining in general, let's be real. At least when it comes to his personal life, thoughts, feelings, etc. Things they need to know for a "mission" or whatever? Sure. But, even then, he keeps a few things to himself like always. But Barry here? For the most part? Just goes with it with, so. Lucky Bruce.
Another sip of that milkshake, Barry looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye and secretly smiles to himself. He can't help but wonder if the man knows how much of a masterpiece he is despite his being ripped at all his edges. Thoughts that come to him so sweetly over strawberry and vanilla milkshakes in the dark of the night down the road. ]
I mean... yeah? [ The smile he tosses Bruce is still soft and warm and he huffs a bit of a laugh as he looks away then, licking over his lips. ] You know, I didn't really know what I was getting into when I said yes. [ Parademons??? ] I mean... yeah, sure, I've dealt with some bad guys before but... in my own... very non-confrontational way.
[ In other words: he knows he doesn't match up to the likes of Bruce, Clark, Diana, Arthur... even Victor when it comes to being a fighter. Push, run, evade? That's his thing. Mind you, he's gotten better with feeling he's just as vital to the team, that these people similar to him accept and need him just as much as he accepts and needs them. Maybe without a little more hesitation than... certain people... might have had with him, but. Here they are.
Stabbing his straw through the cup, he finishes the vanilla off and shoves it in the other cup holder there, hands balling up into fists that he rubs over his legs as he sits there. ]
I don't know. You're... you, so... it's nice to feel like The Batman needs me. [ A beat, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, an uncertain squint of his eyes. ] That... Bruce Wayne maybe needs me.
You just haven't decided how you're going to go about it yet, [ Bruce says, about his non-confrontational way. ] But you will.
[ Personally, he thinks Barry's got more figured out than he realizes. He just needs to accept himself and embraceβ not even his ability, but his own right to exist, and exist as he is, uncompromising in who he is, awkwardness and all. Bruce understands the slide into depression after trauma, and Barry's mother and his father's incarceration are as dire as it gets (even in this crowd, with its six members but only three parents who have not died or vanished under horrifying circumstances). It's hard to get out of. Hell, Bruce hasn't even gotten out of it, he just went in the opposite direction from hesitancy. Egotistical ultraconfidence and no sense of self-preservation.
Which is perhaps not actually better. ]
Well. [ Bruce does not fidget his hands on the steering wheel. He's not sure why this tick from young childhood has begun to resurface, in recent weeks, but it has, and he is going to mercilessly crush it.
The thing is, ]
I do need you.
[ So. Anyway, they are pulling into a diner parking lot, an ancient thing under a service road overpass, clearly resentfully built around by a city that could not get a land lease to expire early. But despite the shabbiness and the hour, it's not deserted, which is a testament to some kind of quality.
Car: parked. Bruce: turning to look into the back seat again, to snag whatever it is he'd checked for earlier, which turns out to be a worn-in Gotham Knights cap, which he tucks over his head. ]
[ TBD on whether or not he gets to figuring out what His Thing is in terms of catching the bad guys and all. For now, he's been a little more on the defensive side of things. Not that... he hasn't dealt with Crime in Central City just, you know, still getting the hang of it and all.
But none of that really filters through much when Bruce seems to more or less ease any sort of doubts he has of his own importance or relevance(??) to the man with a simple four words so nonchalantly given to him. Because it seems to mean more when it comes from Bruce over the others for reasons that are... not so mysterious but still enough to make him feel a certain way about it. Seriously. It was Bruce's car for a reason he'd slipped into and not one of the others. Does Clark even need to drive? Not important. ]
Yeah?
[ And oh, the smile he wears when asking is warm and hopeful in the dinginess of the parking lot they've found themselves in. Which, now that he actually sees everything around them that isn't Bruce, he shifts a bit in his seat, leather creaking underneath him while he unbuckles himself from his seatbelt. ]
Oh, uh... [ Leaning in close, he cups his hand around his mouth in an attempt to keep what he's saying between just them, voice low. ] ...I didn't bring my suit with me. So if the you know what suddenly appears in the sky, uh... maybe small dine and dash problem?
[ And then, abruptly, while swinging a look around that almost sparks that crackle of blue electricity around him. ]
[ Clark has a bicycle, because he cares about carbon footprints. It's really nauseating.
Also nauseating, for perhaps similar reasons, of people being too good for Bruce's company, but are persisting in it for reasons he can't explain: Barry's smile, which he looks away from. He's not as miserable as he was five years ago, and has in fact brushed up against things like recovery!, but he's still not used to it. ]
Iβ
[ He's going to answer, but then Barry zips around, and so Bruce just calmly gets out of the car before he continues, making headway adjusting conversational patterns around someone unconfined by forward entropy. ]
I have a phone, if there's a real problem. [ Even if the weather is bad, his surveillance of Gotham airspace is thorough enough that no signal goes unseen, even if it has to be noticed via Alfred texting him. His voice is quiet, but not suspiciously whispered, and the words he uses are suitable de-identified to get on with. ] Jim doesn't make much use of that thing, though.
[ The og signal on the city's major crimes headquarters is one of a handful; Batman only pays routine attention to that first location. After so many years, there are all kinds of habits and caveats and procedures, layers to when and who and where. Maybe he'll explain it to Barry, if something happens to flicker on and they step out, but he doesn't anticipate anything. ]
Predicting crime in Gotham is part psychological meteorology and part mysticism, [ he says dully as he locks the car. It's the nicest one in the lot, but not at first glance - somebody's got a BMW with a flashier paint job, amongst mid-range and junkers. ] Should be quiet.
[ Rocking a bit on his heels where he stands, Barry stuffs his hands into his hoodie pockets and hums as he raises his brows because... of course Bruce wouldn't worry about that. Or have a backup plan. Or another means of being alerted because, you know, he's Batman and all. ]
Riiiight. You're... the guy with not one but two? Satellites.
[ He grins before he shushes himself and ducks his head as he spins around on his heel. It's just them out here but, you know, he likes to talk a lot sometimes. Clearing his throat, he continues on in for the diner, hands still shoved in his pockets as he leans in a bit to Bruce's side with a goofy sort of grin on his lips. ]
I mean... my, what a nice night this is.
[ Totally inconspicuous. Nobody heard a thing, thanks. ]
So do you usually come here a lot? Is this the hot spot for Bruce Wayne and late night eats? You know, since you threw my Denny's suggestion in the trash like it was garbage.
[ He raises his eyebrows, though it's hard to see under the hat. Six satellites, actually, though it had been seven before Superman and Zod dinged one in orbit. ]
Denny's is garbage.
[ So there.
Bruce's body language is always a little different, in public; more unassuming, less confident. Somebody his height and built like such a tank shouldn't be able to fold in on himself like he does, but he manages it. The figure he cuts when he pulls the door open for Barry is 'tall, probably', and quite anonymous. ]
Sometimes. Every few years it'll be a phase. You ever get in one of those moods where you can only eat tacos for a week?
[ The tail end of his answer (imagine Batman eating a taco) is muddled by the call of a waitress in a pea-green polo shirt telling them to 'sit wherever, I'll be right there!', and Bruce nods at Barry. Knock yourself out, pick a booth. Or the counter. Either way, it'll be vaguely sticky.
It's unremarkable inside. It could be the afternoon, for how ordinary; but Gotham is open 24 hours, and it makes sense that there are loads of people on different schedules. Nobody pays them any mind. Maybe none are serial killers! ]
[ Ok, so. He does have to admit that the place has a sort of cozy feel to it and he hums a little in surprise with a wave of his hand to the waitress who greets them before he turns on back to Bruce... while walking backwards towards a booth that they're totally going to be having for themselves in here. ]
Well you know what? You're taking me to Denny's on my birthday just for saying that. [ A beat. ] So save the date because you're not getting out of it, bucko.
[ So there. Wait... bucko? Ugh, cringing at himself right now for that. Anyways. ]
But, to answer your question before the sudden burst of Denny's hate, yes. I do get into those moods a lot. Snackhole that I am.
[ Proud Snackhole of Central City right here.
But when the backs of his legs hit the edge of the table, he nearly topples over if not for the quick reaching out to grab Bruce's arm to steady himself. Crisis averted, booth obtained, Barry tossing a sheepish smile Bruce's way. Thanks, bro. ]
Oh, geez. Wow, that was a lot closer than I thought it was. [ Sliding into the booth, he settles himself there and begins to drum his fingers against the table. Antsy. ] Is there like... a menu or something around here?
[ Before anyone can answer that, he suddenly has a menu in his hands and is looking it over like he didn't just zip his way on over to the nearest table, yoink one, and bring it back with him to their booth all in under two seconds or less. ]
Um, sooooo... what do you usually get? Like... what would you recommend in this fine establishment here?
[ Despite his harmless aura, Bruce is still very (normal human) sturdy, when grabbed onto. He doesn't sway, and is as solid as a statue for Barry to use as a balancing post. A lot of real estate, between his shoulders.
Pause. Stare. There's always a kind of film edit sensation when Barry does that, to Bruce's overclocked brain, not to mention the static feeling along the fine hairs at the back of his neck.
You know I busted you via shitty liquor store security cam, his gaze seems to say. ]
Everything's fine, though it all kind of tastes like the same cooking oil. [ A verbal shrug. No one's here because it's high class cuisine. ] I have it on good authority that the blueberry pancakes are 'excellent' but will turn to cement in your stomach.
[ With Barry, though, who knows. The waitress does appear, then, 'right there' as promised, and she slaps a menu down in front of Bruce. Having either noticed that Barry already had one, or managed to observe his zoom, through some kind of magic waitress power. Drinks? Drinks. Bruce gets black coffee, which smells scalded when poured from the carafe she snags off the counter, and presumably Barry gets something completely normal and not a gallon of Shirley Temple. (Maybe? Maybe.) In the distance, a siren, and nearby, another patron loudly playing Candy Crush on his phone. ]
[ Wow, excuse you, he's well of age to drink?? Not that... this place serves alcohol or anything, but. You know. He just goes with a ginger ale (thanks) and those blueberry pancakes despite the warning... and maybe a side of eggs. With bacon. And a couple pieces of toast. The end.
It's all ordered with a smile and wave and he comes to actually sit on his hands while his leg bounces under the table. When Victor is brought up, his attention is thrown back to Bruce rather than around the diner because yes, he certainly has been and yes, he managed to become pals with the guy. Still... sort of working on Arthur a bit, but. ]
As a matter of fact... yes. [ A slight head tilt, hands slip out from under him to pluck a nearby napkin off the table. ] See, I have this whole... theory. [ He starts, tossing a glance to Bruce as he begins the task of rolling up the napkin between his fingers. ] About possible or even alternate timelines that exist all around us and very likely even in the Speed Force. Because, when I go really fast, things just get... super weird around me and even...
[ It's there that he catches himself and stops because... that's not anything he's told any of them still. What he's done. What he did after what happened and so... backtrack. Backing the you know what up. It's a teensy bit obvious he is with the way he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye because, sad to say, he's still not that great a liar around the guy, but. He's not lying if he doesn't bring it up so.
Throwing up a smile on his face, he looks over to Bruce, napkin having been completely ripped to shreds. Whoops. ]
...that's... not important. [ Shaking his head, he realizes the mess he's made of the napkin and just... brushes that all into his hand, which he then shoves into his pocket. Hands coming to fold atop the table then, he regards Bruce a little more directly. ] Point is, there may or may not be a way to possibly reach said alternate timelines or realities. But- the question then is, should such a thing be done in the first place because that's sort of messing with the very fabric of space and time and things we don't even have nearly enough of an understanding of, so.
[ A pop of his lips, he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye again. ]
[ Narrative drag was not about the median age of Shirley Temple drinkers, but 1) the color and 2) the extra calories in the fruit. If they serve alcohol at all here it's boxed wine and stale Coors Light, a 7-UP with grenadine is almost definitely better.
Bruce is getting a real boring breakfast plate. For the hash browns, but he will not admit it.
He listens to Barry, expecting to hear about ability testing or wild nights trying to chase down costumed criminals, or playing digital Robin Hood. Maybe even something a little sad, considering Vic's predicament and the horrors he's been through. What he hears is not that at all.
There's been mention, of course, of the strangeness that happens when Barry runs faster than he should. It's how they were able to jumpstart their motherbox. The speedster was not in-depth in his explanation, and Bruce never prompted him to be, too focused on their goal. Since then it's lurked in his head, but he's been unwilling to focus on it; hearing Barry lay out the potentials so frankly shakes loose a lock. Easy, because of course it is. Of course he's smart enough to understand all that, and weave through it like it's nothing.
Bruce just stares at him. For too long. ]
Alright, [ he says, eventually. Aware it's not an appropriate or adequate response, even as he looks out the diner window. Into the dark, like maybe he'll see the outline of a massive transport ship from Darkseid's planet - Apokolips, Diana had called it, the name left inscribed in ruins - a hulking form and pillar of fire propelling it.
Still just a parking lot. He taps his thumb against the edge of his coffee mug. ]
[ Honestly, that "alright" sums it all up pretty well. Bruce is a smart guy, he knows he doesn't need to dumb it down for him. So he takes that one-word response to what's been on his mind without a hint of offense for sharing because... yeah. It's a lot.
When their food is placed down before them, there's a brief pause in his staring to the man to smile and thank the waitress for it. Looks ok as far as he's concerned. But the smiles slip away the moment that she does and he licks over his lips as he mulls over something.
Ah, screw it. ]
There's... also the possibility of... time travel. [ And he says those last two words so carefully while he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye again. Debating. ] Or... the reversal of time. Which I may or may not have done a couple times.
[ He'd seen it when he first jumpstarted the motherbox for Clark's revival. Something so small and barely even noticeable to him with pulling back just a couple seconds so he could give the motherbox that kick it needed. For as fast as he is, there's still moments where he doesn't always make it there in time which is ironic for a speedster, yeah.
But he falls silent then as he stabs at his eggs, wanting to start shoveling them into his mouth but finding himself unable to when this topic is hanging there between them. So, instead, he pushes them around on his plate, looking as if he means to say something before closing his mouth and then trying again. When he does, it's without looking to Bruce and his voice is soft. ]
We didn't win the first time. [ He starts with that, still not looking up from his plate. ] I was still injured and couldn't get to Victor. By the time I was was able to get up, there was this explosion and I uh... [ Slipped into the speed force to avoid the blast, to figure out what had happened to his horror. ] ...I ran back through time. I fixed it.
[ He looks up to Bruce then, that socially awkward twenty-five year old replaced with a more serious and quiet persona. One of a young man who clearly carries his own weights on his shoulders. ]
I probably shouldn't have done that because if movies tell us anything about butterfly effects and changing the course of history and consequences that come from that... [ Although who's to say he wasn't supposed to do that? Cue the whole is fate or the future already predetermined debate.
Pursing his lips, his leg bounces again under the table before he finally lets himself look over to Bruce. ] ...but you're here now, so. That's what matters really.
[ And that was his "hey, you kinda died on account of me, sorry about that, man, but I fixed it" speech. ]
[ It's Barry's effortless intellect that Bruce is reflecting on, in this instance. Cutting through everything to explain as commonplace as if he accidentally spilled pasta all over a beige carpet. Most people, when stumbling into godlike powers, would not be able to figure out what's happening to them. They might become too disoriented to parse it, withdraw into fear, or simply shrug it off.
As if it were a dream.
Hah. ]
I know, [ Bruce says, around methodical dissection of eggs and hashbrown. He's watching his plate, having reeled his gaze back from the outside at some point. He should be telling Barry to shut up, but anyone listening to this conversation will just think they're insane, anyway, but he's confident they aren't being specifically observed. Maybe. Sort of. Alright, mostly he's pretending he isn't panicking, but some instincts continue on auto-pilot, when they're so trained in.
Saying it - I know - leaves him shocked at himself, though nothing shows on his face. He isn't certain he did know at all, before just now. But a grim certainty has set in listening to all of that, and the pieces slot together too well. He hates the shape of it. ]
You did the right thing. [ Bruce looks up, at last. His gaze is level and serious. It's okay. And then he pauses, an uncharacteristic hesitation, before: ] I have something to show you when we get back.
[ Well. That... could have been worse? Not that he really knew what he'd been expecting when more or less fessing up to the whole... everything that... happened, but. Who knows what Bruce might have thought. Maybe he would have considered tampering with time to be something No One should do, not even for the so-called Greater Good of it all. Plus, again... movies and tv anyone? Bruce's lack of cartoons aside, he has to have seen science fiction films about time travel and, with being as smart as he is, have his own Thoughts about messing with it all, so.
But it's that reassurance that comes a moment after that really has Barry feel a bit more at ease and it shows in the way he sheepishly looks up from his plate to the man. Because, deep down, he believes he was right to do it as well. To rewind time for just a few moments, get Victor to where he needed to be, and give them all a second chance. To bring them back. If he could have done the same with his mother back then...
He doesn't let that thought bury him in a guilt he doesn't deserve and, instead, pokes at his plate a bit again. Maybe even actually shoveling some of those eggs into his mouth rather than push them around the plate like he's suddenly lost his appetite; as if that would ever happen let's be real here.
Nodding, he swallows as he reaches out for his drink and eyes Bruce a little curiously while he takes a sip. So they're going back to his place after this? Well, ok. He's fine with that. Really. Just... probably the most time he's spent with the guy outside of their whole first meeting with one another. ]
[ Bruce is being rude, letting Barry pour all of this out and languish over his pancakes while he sits here almost completely silent, basically refusing to react. But he isn't sure what he could say. Do. Offer. Anything at all; he believes him entirely, and even in Barry's uncertainty here and there - possibilities and shouldn't haves - Bruce thinks he's dead on the money. He wishes he had the emotional skills necessary to communicate his support and acceptance of what Barry is telling him, but unfortunately, Bruce doesn't, and can only pick through measly offerings as he endeavours not to see orange-hued wastelands creeping in on them.
It makes sense. It glues things together. They couldn't have succeeded without Barry, and Barry couldn't have come as close without them.
The problem, besides sitting in public discussing obviously insane shit and trying not to tip anyone off that they're costumed superheroes who saved the world a few weeks ago, is that Bruce doesn't want it to make sense. After recovering from his psychotic break, he had to come to terms with his dreams being paranoid delusions. That isn't Superman. That isn't Clark.
Except, it is Barry Allen. ]
You'll have to be patient. [ See, look. Everything is fine. Bruce is eating his food and drinking his coffee like a normal person who isn't silently freaking out. His phone doesn't buzz, which means either Clark isn't paying attention to his biometrics, or he is, and knows better than to interrupt. (Let's not touch on his easy acceptance of the possibility of that kind of invasive observation, speaking of recovering from devastating mental health episodes.) ]
[ To be fair, Barry just has a way of... getting a little excited at times. Bat signal and Bat Base of Operations prime examples of such a thing. He is keeping his voice to a low enough level at least? So, there's that going for them with this whole Talk of theirs happening in a diner during the middle of the night.
Something else he can cross off his bucket list: greasy diner date with Bruce Wayne. When will your faves?
Either way, he's shoveling his food into his mouth and wondering if he's Said Too Much with how quiet Bruce seems to be about it. After all, it's not like he's exactly privy to the thoughts that go on in the man's mind and Barry himself is just a little more forthcoming with his thoughts between the two of them. But, he figures if there really was a problem Bruce had with what he'd done or said, he'd be a little more obvious about it with A Look or kick under the table or something. As it stands? He seems to be in the clear, so.
That whole you'll have to be patient though... yeah, that gets the speedster to toss his own Look Bruce's way as he dabs at his mouth with a paper napkin. Don't want any crumbs there after all. ]
Yeah, patience... isn't exactly something I'd list under my strong suits. [ Just saying. ] Do I get like a hint or something at least? Along with this [ a beat ] very delicious food.
[ Which he's about to be done in five, four, three, two... ]
[ Bruce is a paradox of patience. He is both willing to do things like sit on a rooftop in the rain for eight hours solid, unmoving, waiting for a single mark, and spend years dedicated to unravelling a case, but also refuses to spend too many days a year doing things like this. Wastes time.
Not quite Speed Force level struggles. Which he is aware of. So, a wry caution, ] Don't go trying to push us through time to figure it out.
[ That will not help. Not with what Bruce has in store (which is potentially not that exciting, though it is potentially dire, how's that for a date), and not with him finishing his own food, which is still not halfway done. There's some bacon he hasn't even made a dent in. ]
Forensic work is a lot of hurry up and wait, you know.
[ How's he going to manage that? Get his jitters out knocking over criminals, siphoning cases from the police unit? Bruce wonders. Hopes so, but at the same time, hopes he finds himself not needed as much in Central City as someone like Batman is needed in Gotham. Time for a life, to not have to devote his whole identity to a mask. Time that might be shorter than they know, all things (in this world and others) considered. ]
[ Oh, so he really just went and said that, did he? Well here comes the scoff of disbelief and a pointing of his fork in Bruce's direction. ]
F.y.i. I've only ever gone backwards, not forwards. [ A beat, lips pursed. ] Although I might have maybe considered such possibilities since then but. That's tbd for the moment.
[ Something he'll have to figure out and cautiously test. Maybe. He still doesn't like to go breaking that rule but... there could be some good out of doing so. Things he still needs to figure out for himself. Make your own future. Make your own past.
Unlike Bruce, Barry's finished his greasy grub and not as a means to get them out of here quicker. He just eats fast. Like wolfing down that entire pizza when they first met. The life of a Snackhole who burns everything up way faster than normal.
Brushing his hands over his thighs, he takes a moment to just settle before his overactive mind touches on something he deems important and he looks back over to Bruce with teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a second. ]
Yeah but- can I just... I mean... can you keep what I told you on the downlow from the others? [ A sheepish look, he puffs out a sigh, scratching at his cheek. ] It's just... not really a big deal and I figure it's probably better? To just not have to worry about something that didn't happen but did except it didn't because... yeah.
[ Is it only backwards, technically, if he's continued to exist in the same (or "same") continuity? Are the points between where he began the rewind and where he took his finger off the button 'forward' in time, or a kind of temporal no man's land? Bruce continues to eat his 4am breakfast, observing Barry, voicing none of these thoughts.
Time Guy. Static Future. Clock Man.
Horrible.
Bruce can't answer the tender plea, because their waitress returns with more coffee. He asks her about making a second round of his order (without the eggs), to go. Alfred can complain about reheating it, but secretly enjoy the unrestrained luxury of shitty diner food.
When they're relatively alone again, Bruce nods slowly. Still thinking, but offering agreement anyway. ]
Of course, [ he says, nearly done with his food by now. ] It isn't something that you should be expected to shoulder alone, though.
[ Picking up something for Alfred is probably a good idea and Barry has to wonder if the older man is even up at this hour. Not that he thinks he needs to be in bed by eight or something just, you know, the guy could use a break sometimes? Yeah he's just... going to not say anything on that. He likes Alfred ok?
That part about not needing to shoulder things on his own, however, has Barry toss a curious glance over to Bruce. ]
Says the guy who probably shoulders a lot more alone than I do?
[ Yeah he's calling the guy out after he's treated him (so far) to this late night diner outing plus milkshakes PLUS not being peeved at finding him just chilling in the back of his car in the middle of the night. A little ballsy to do? Maybe. But it's not with malicious intent or even snide in how he does. Rather, he offers him a quiet but understanding look before he glances down to his lap and fishes out his phone from his pocket. ]
Wow. Look at the time. We better get going if you want to show me that thing.
[ And he leans in a bit to wink before he blinks, squints, pauses. ]
Wait that... kinda came off more creepy than I intended it to.
It just means I know what it's like, [ Bruce points out, with the annoying authority of someone who did not have a looming figure break into his creepy warehouse when he was twenty-five. He had Alfred, and a half dozen other serious mentors over the years, but they were all fucking nuts, so.
Maybe he'd have liked help. Camaraderie. Support in some way that wasn't doomed to abandonment, betrayal, and death. (Still could be, he supposes, but why dig graves you can't fill yet.)
Anywhoo. Eyebrows up, beneath the hat. That thing. What will this waitress think of them, Barry. ]
Do you know how to drive a stick shift?
[ He can see the clamshell in a plastic bag being ferried their way, so Bruce consults his wallet, prepared to overcompensate as usual on the tip. He has lobbied for comfortable living wages for all servicepeople before, but it's always just him and the Ben and Jerry's guys in senate hearings. So, tips it is. ]
[ And this would be where the record scratch comes in. ]
You drive stick shift?
[ He feels he knows this. Or should since, they kinda drove over here together. In the same car. Sitting there right beside Bruce while trying not to get milkshake all over the seats. Yeah. Guess he'd been a little bit more interested in other things? A mystery. But. Now he's not so sure he's feeling super confidant about taking Bruce's hot wheels for a spin back to his place.
When that clamshell is brought on over in that plastic bag, Barry takes this as their cue to exit and certainly catches that curiously questioning look on their waitress' face.
So. Just to clear up any sort of mis-communi-kay going on here, he gestures between him and Bruce with a finger as he slips out of the booth. All smiles. ]
We're together. I mean- we work together. We're... co-workers. At the same... place of work.
[ Ok he is... so not selling this and he's just gonna stop right there with an awkward rub of the back of his head and just duck right on out of there, bye!! Normal non-metahuman speed. No flashy lightning bolt super speed. But he definitely keeps a certain sort of speed about him that would make you think he was a professional mall walker. ]
Why do I say half the things I do sometimes? Not cool, Barry. So not cool.
[ Muttering to himself as he waits for Bruce, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets and hurries on over to the car. ]
Uh, so. Maybe I'm not that well-versed with the whole stick shift kinda life? You know, if we're being honest here with each other about things.
[ Aka maybe he should just NOT try and drive this... very expensive car. ]
[ Bruce leaves too much money for the tab, but not too too much money. Enough to not look like a total prick despite driving a nice car and having an expensive watch on, but not enough to warrant anyone digging through security footage to see who he is out of awe. A fine balance, especially with the way wages fluctuate.
In the parking lot, he huffs an exhale of air, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Barry's ridiculousness is charming despite everything. ]
Well. [ Clickclick, the doors open. ] Want to learn?
[ Bruce stands where he is, letting the younger pan pick driver or passenger. If all else fails, Bruce is adept in yanking a steering wheel this way and that while also operating the gear shaft with the wrong hand. And he can afford another one of these no problem. (Though he's probably getting a BMW for his next around town car, the doors on this thing get tedious.)
Possibly a moment levity before he shows Barry what he's got on file back at the cave. ]
[ If it's him in the store again, he's going to be so underwhelmed because yeah, hi, he knows you have that footage, Bruce. Or, you know, at least his picture from it.
But oh. He's... actually getting a choice here? Well... then... so much power. No, not really. He does, however, look over to the other man a little more thoughtfully which, with Barry, only really lasts for a couple of seconds with how quick he is to process things. Pros and cons, the good and the bad, should and shouldn't. Ultimately, he run his hand over his mouth to grasp his chin in "thought" before he smiles over to Bruce. ]
Yeah sure. You only live once, right?
[ Or... not really since... time reversal but... anyways.
Zipping around to the driver's side of the car, he keeps that eager smile on his face and holds his hand out for the keys. ]
Can I just say I completely admire the amount of trust you continue to have in me and everything that I do?
Don't go driving my trust into a wall, then, huh? [ says Bruce as he leans into the car from the other side, tossing Barry the key fob (even though he could push-button start it, he looks so pleased to be given themβ) and then setting the take-out in the floor of the back seat.
Doors: Close. Seatbelts: on. Meme competition line. ]
Alright, so you've got one hand on the wheel, and the other on the gear.
[ Bruce can drive anything, can build a car from scratch, but ME ON THE OTHER HAND DRIVES A MEDIOCRE HONDA WITH AN AUTOMATIC,, so,,, Barry is subjected to patient but direct instruction, about the placement of the gear shaft and when to hit the gas.
If all else fails, ('You're flooding it') Bruce can handle the shifting and Barry can just press down on the pedal and steer. Teamwork.
Halfway back: ] You can drive in general, though, right.
[ Wow, Bruce. Ye of little faith and all that. But Barry makes himself nice and comfortable there in the driver's seat of this fine beauty of a car and he can hardly believe he's actually behind the wheel of it as a driver and not over there in the passenger seat a usual. How many of these does Bruce have again? Not important and he quickly dismisses the thought as Bruce goes and asks what he does.
Barry? Just gives a long uhhhhhhhhhh before answering. ]
...if by driving you mean making a getaway in GTA, then yeah, sure. But hey, no time like the present for a crash course, right? [ Waggling his brows over at Bruce, he laughs about two point five seconds later and waves a hand around dramatically. ] I'm kidding! Of course I know. Wow, what kind of person do you take me for? [ A beat, as he starts up the ignition. ] Don't actually answer that?
[ Hands on the steering wheel, he grips it nice and tight, teeth sinking down into his bottom lip before he throws a curious smile over to Bruce. Does he look good behind the wheel, Bruce? Does he? ]
So how fast can this baby go? [ Once again, a beat, because a thought comes to him and he looks to Bruce Super Seriously. ] Can I drive the Batmobile?
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Another sip of that milkshake, Barry looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye and secretly smiles to himself. He can't help but wonder if the man knows how much of a masterpiece he is despite his being ripped at all his edges. Thoughts that come to him so sweetly over strawberry and vanilla milkshakes in the dark of the night down the road. ]
I mean... yeah? [ The smile he tosses Bruce is still soft and warm and he huffs a bit of a laugh as he looks away then, licking over his lips. ] You know, I didn't really know what I was getting into when I said yes. [ Parademons??? ] I mean... yeah, sure, I've dealt with some bad guys before but... in my own... very non-confrontational way.
[ In other words: he knows he doesn't match up to the likes of Bruce, Clark, Diana, Arthur... even Victor when it comes to being a fighter. Push, run, evade? That's his thing. Mind you, he's gotten better with feeling he's just as vital to the team, that these people similar to him accept and need him just as much as he accepts and needs them. Maybe without a little more hesitation than... certain people... might have had with him, but. Here they are.
Stabbing his straw through the cup, he finishes the vanilla off and shoves it in the other cup holder there, hands balling up into fists that he rubs over his legs as he sits there. ]
I don't know. You're... you, so... it's nice to feel like The Batman needs me. [ A beat, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, an uncertain squint of his eyes. ] That... Bruce Wayne maybe needs me.
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[ Personally, he thinks Barry's got more figured out than he realizes. He just needs to accept himself and embraceβ not even his ability, but his own right to exist, and exist as he is, uncompromising in who he is, awkwardness and all. Bruce understands the slide into depression after trauma, and Barry's mother and his father's incarceration are as dire as it gets (even in this crowd, with its six members but only three parents who have not died or vanished under horrifying circumstances). It's hard to get out of. Hell, Bruce hasn't even gotten out of it, he just went in the opposite direction from hesitancy. Egotistical ultraconfidence and no sense of self-preservation.
Which is perhaps not actually better. ]
Well. [ Bruce does not fidget his hands on the steering wheel. He's not sure why this tick from young childhood has begun to resurface, in recent weeks, but it has, and he is going to mercilessly crush it.
The thing is, ]
I do need you.
[ So. Anyway, they are pulling into a diner parking lot, an ancient thing under a service road overpass, clearly resentfully built around by a city that could not get a land lease to expire early. But despite the shabbiness and the hour, it's not deserted, which is a testament to some kind of quality.
Car: parked. Bruce: turning to look into the back seat again, to snag whatever it is he'd checked for earlier, which turns out to be a worn-in Gotham Knights cap, which he tucks over his head. ]
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But none of that really filters through much when Bruce seems to more or less ease any sort of doubts he has of his own importance or relevance(??) to the man with a simple four words so nonchalantly given to him. Because it seems to mean more when it comes from Bruce over the others for reasons that are... not so mysterious but still enough to make him feel a certain way about it. Seriously. It was Bruce's car for a reason he'd slipped into and not one of the others. Does Clark even need to drive? Not important. ]
Yeah?
[ And oh, the smile he wears when asking is warm and hopeful in the dinginess of the parking lot they've found themselves in. Which, now that he actually sees everything around them that isn't Bruce, he shifts a bit in his seat, leather creaking underneath him while he unbuckles himself from his seatbelt. ]
Oh, uh... [ Leaning in close, he cups his hand around his mouth in an attempt to keep what he's saying between just them, voice low. ] ...I didn't bring my suit with me. So if the you know what suddenly appears in the sky, uh... maybe small dine and dash problem?
[ And then, abruptly, while swinging a look around that almost sparks that crackle of blue electricity around him. ]
Wait- can we even see it from here?
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Also nauseating, for perhaps similar reasons, of people being too good for Bruce's company, but are persisting in it for reasons he can't explain: Barry's smile, which he looks away from. He's not as miserable as he was five years ago, and has in fact brushed up against things like recovery!, but he's still not used to it. ]
Iβ
[ He's going to answer, but then Barry zips around, and so Bruce just calmly gets out of the car before he continues, making headway adjusting conversational patterns around someone unconfined by forward entropy. ]
I have a phone, if there's a real problem. [ Even if the weather is bad, his surveillance of Gotham airspace is thorough enough that no signal goes unseen, even if it has to be noticed via Alfred texting him. His voice is quiet, but not suspiciously whispered, and the words he uses are suitable de-identified to get on with. ] Jim doesn't make much use of that thing, though.
[ The og signal on the city's major crimes headquarters is one of a handful; Batman only pays routine attention to that first location. After so many years, there are all kinds of habits and caveats and procedures, layers to when and who and where. Maybe he'll explain it to Barry, if something happens to flicker on and they step out, but he doesn't anticipate anything. ]
Predicting crime in Gotham is part psychological meteorology and part mysticism, [ he says dully as he locks the car. It's the nicest one in the lot, but not at first glance - somebody's got a BMW with a flashier paint job, amongst mid-range and junkers. ] Should be quiet.
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Riiiight. You're... the guy with not one but two? Satellites.
[ He grins before he shushes himself and ducks his head as he spins around on his heel. It's just them out here but, you know, he likes to talk a lot sometimes. Clearing his throat, he continues on in for the diner, hands still shoved in his pockets as he leans in a bit to Bruce's side with a goofy sort of grin on his lips. ]
I mean... my, what a nice night this is.
[ Totally inconspicuous. Nobody heard a thing, thanks. ]
So do you usually come here a lot? Is this the hot spot for Bruce Wayne and late night eats? You know, since you threw my Denny's suggestion in the trash like it was garbage.
[ >:( ]
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Denny's is garbage.
[ So there.
Bruce's body language is always a little different, in public; more unassuming, less confident. Somebody his height and built like such a tank shouldn't be able to fold in on himself like he does, but he manages it. The figure he cuts when he pulls the door open for Barry is 'tall, probably', and quite anonymous. ]
Sometimes. Every few years it'll be a phase. You ever get in one of those moods where you can only eat tacos for a week?
[ The tail end of his answer (imagine Batman eating a taco) is muddled by the call of a waitress in a pea-green polo shirt telling them to 'sit wherever, I'll be right there!', and Bruce nods at Barry. Knock yourself out, pick a booth. Or the counter. Either way, it'll be vaguely sticky.
It's unremarkable inside. It could be the afternoon, for how ordinary; but Gotham is open 24 hours, and it makes sense that there are loads of people on different schedules. Nobody pays them any mind. Maybe none are serial killers! ]
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Well you know what? You're taking me to Denny's on my birthday just for saying that. [ A beat. ] So save the date because you're not getting out of it, bucko.
[ So there. Wait... bucko? Ugh, cringing at himself right now for that. Anyways. ]
But, to answer your question before the sudden burst of Denny's hate, yes. I do get into those moods a lot. Snackhole that I am.
[ Proud Snackhole of Central City right here.
But when the backs of his legs hit the edge of the table, he nearly topples over if not for the quick reaching out to grab Bruce's arm to steady himself. Crisis averted, booth obtained, Barry tossing a sheepish smile Bruce's way. Thanks, bro. ]
Oh, geez. Wow, that was a lot closer than I thought it was. [ Sliding into the booth, he settles himself there and begins to drum his fingers against the table. Antsy. ] Is there like... a menu or something around here?
[ Before anyone can answer that, he suddenly has a menu in his hands and is looking it over like he didn't just zip his way on over to the nearest table, yoink one, and bring it back with him to their booth all in under two seconds or less. ]
Um, sooooo... what do you usually get? Like... what would you recommend in this fine establishment here?
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Pause. Stare. There's always a kind of film edit sensation when Barry does that, to Bruce's overclocked brain, not to mention the static feeling along the fine hairs at the back of his neck.
You know I busted you via shitty liquor store security cam, his gaze seems to say. ]
Everything's fine, though it all kind of tastes like the same cooking oil. [ A verbal shrug. No one's here because it's high class cuisine. ] I have it on good authority that the blueberry pancakes are 'excellent' but will turn to cement in your stomach.
[ With Barry, though, who knows. The waitress does appear, then, 'right there' as promised, and she slaps a menu down in front of Bruce. Having either noticed that Barry already had one, or managed to observe his zoom, through some kind of magic waitress power. Drinks? Drinks. Bruce gets black coffee, which smells scalded when poured from the carafe she snags off the counter, and presumably Barry gets something completely normal and not a gallon of Shirley Temple. (Maybe? Maybe.) In the distance, a siren, and nearby, another patron loudly playing Candy Crush on his phone. ]
Have you been spending any time with Victor?
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It's all ordered with a smile and wave and he comes to actually sit on his hands while his leg bounces under the table. When Victor is brought up, his attention is thrown back to Bruce rather than around the diner because yes, he certainly has been and yes, he managed to become pals with the guy. Still... sort of working on Arthur a bit, but. ]
As a matter of fact... yes. [ A slight head tilt, hands slip out from under him to pluck a nearby napkin off the table. ] See, I have this whole... theory. [ He starts, tossing a glance to Bruce as he begins the task of rolling up the napkin between his fingers. ] About possible or even alternate timelines that exist all around us and very likely even in the Speed Force. Because, when I go really fast, things just get... super weird around me and even...
[ It's there that he catches himself and stops because... that's not anything he's told any of them still. What he's done. What he did after what happened and so... backtrack. Backing the you know what up. It's a teensy bit obvious he is with the way he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye because, sad to say, he's still not that great a liar around the guy, but. He's not lying if he doesn't bring it up so.
Throwing up a smile on his face, he looks over to Bruce, napkin having been completely ripped to shreds. Whoops. ]
...that's... not important. [ Shaking his head, he realizes the mess he's made of the napkin and just... brushes that all into his hand, which he then shoves into his pocket. Hands coming to fold atop the table then, he regards Bruce a little more directly. ] Point is, there may or may not be a way to possibly reach said alternate timelines or realities. But- the question then is, should such a thing be done in the first place because that's sort of messing with the very fabric of space and time and things we don't even have nearly enough of an understanding of, so.
[ A pop of his lips, he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye again. ]
Yeah, that's what's been on my mind a lot.
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Bruce is getting a real boring breakfast plate. For the hash browns, but he will not admit it.
He listens to Barry, expecting to hear about ability testing or wild nights trying to chase down costumed criminals, or playing digital Robin Hood. Maybe even something a little sad, considering Vic's predicament and the horrors he's been through. What he hears is not that at all.
There's been mention, of course, of the strangeness that happens when Barry runs faster than he should. It's how they were able to jumpstart their motherbox. The speedster was not in-depth in his explanation, and Bruce never prompted him to be, too focused on their goal. Since then it's lurked in his head, but he's been unwilling to focus on it; hearing Barry lay out the potentials so frankly shakes loose a lock. Easy, because of course it is. Of course he's smart enough to understand all that, and weave through it like it's nothing.
Bruce just stares at him. For too long. ]
Alright, [ he says, eventually. Aware it's not an appropriate or adequate response, even as he looks out the diner window. Into the dark, like maybe he'll see the outline of a massive transport ship from Darkseid's planet - Apokolips, Diana had called it, the name left inscribed in ruins - a hulking form and pillar of fire propelling it.
Still just a parking lot. He taps his thumb against the edge of his coffee mug. ]
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When their food is placed down before them, there's a brief pause in his staring to the man to smile and thank the waitress for it. Looks ok as far as he's concerned. But the smiles slip away the moment that she does and he licks over his lips as he mulls over something.
Ah, screw it. ]
There's... also the possibility of... time travel. [ And he says those last two words so carefully while he looks to Bruce out of the corner of his eye again. Debating. ] Or... the reversal of time. Which I may or may not have done a couple times.
[ He'd seen it when he first jumpstarted the motherbox for Clark's revival. Something so small and barely even noticeable to him with pulling back just a couple seconds so he could give the motherbox that kick it needed. For as fast as he is, there's still moments where he doesn't always make it there in time which is ironic for a speedster, yeah.
But he falls silent then as he stabs at his eggs, wanting to start shoveling them into his mouth but finding himself unable to when this topic is hanging there between them. So, instead, he pushes them around on his plate, looking as if he means to say something before closing his mouth and then trying again. When he does, it's without looking to Bruce and his voice is soft. ]
We didn't win the first time. [ He starts with that, still not looking up from his plate. ] I was still injured and couldn't get to Victor. By the time I was was able to get up, there was this explosion and I uh... [ Slipped into the speed force to avoid the blast, to figure out what had happened to his horror. ] ...I ran back through time. I fixed it.
[ He looks up to Bruce then, that socially awkward twenty-five year old replaced with a more serious and quiet persona. One of a young man who clearly carries his own weights on his shoulders. ]
I probably shouldn't have done that because if movies tell us anything about butterfly effects and changing the course of history and consequences that come from that... [ Although who's to say he wasn't supposed to do that? Cue the whole is fate or the future already predetermined debate.
Pursing his lips, his leg bounces again under the table before he finally lets himself look over to Bruce. ] ...but you're here now, so. That's what matters really.
[ And that was his "hey, you kinda died on account of me, sorry about that, man, but I fixed it" speech. ]
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As if it were a dream.
Hah. ]
I know, [ Bruce says, around methodical dissection of eggs and hashbrown. He's watching his plate, having reeled his gaze back from the outside at some point. He should be telling Barry to shut up, but anyone listening to this conversation will just think they're insane, anyway, but he's confident they aren't being specifically observed. Maybe. Sort of. Alright, mostly he's pretending he isn't panicking, but some instincts continue on auto-pilot, when they're so trained in.
Saying it - I know - leaves him shocked at himself, though nothing shows on his face. He isn't certain he did know at all, before just now. But a grim certainty has set in listening to all of that, and the pieces slot together too well. He hates the shape of it. ]
You did the right thing. [ Bruce looks up, at last. His gaze is level and serious. It's okay. And then he pauses, an uncharacteristic hesitation, before: ] I have something to show you when we get back.
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But it's that reassurance that comes a moment after that really has Barry feel a bit more at ease and it shows in the way he sheepishly looks up from his plate to the man. Because, deep down, he believes he was right to do it as well. To rewind time for just a few moments, get Victor to where he needed to be, and give them all a second chance. To bring them back. If he could have done the same with his mother back then...
He doesn't let that thought bury him in a guilt he doesn't deserve and, instead, pokes at his plate a bit again. Maybe even actually shoveling some of those eggs into his mouth rather than push them around the plate like he's suddenly lost his appetite; as if that would ever happen let's be real here.
Nodding, he swallows as he reaches out for his drink and eyes Bruce a little curiously while he takes a sip. So they're going back to his place after this? Well, ok. He's fine with that. Really. Just... probably the most time he's spent with the guy outside of their whole first meeting with one another. ]
Show me... what?
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It makes sense. It glues things together. They couldn't have succeeded without Barry, and Barry couldn't have come as close without them.
The problem, besides sitting in public discussing obviously insane shit and trying not to tip anyone off that they're costumed superheroes who saved the world a few weeks ago, is that Bruce doesn't want it to make sense. After recovering from his psychotic break, he had to come to terms with his dreams being paranoid delusions. That isn't Superman. That isn't Clark.
Except, it is Barry Allen. ]
You'll have to be patient. [ See, look. Everything is fine. Bruce is eating his food and drinking his coffee like a normal person who isn't silently freaking out. His phone doesn't buzz, which means either Clark isn't paying attention to his biometrics, or he is, and knows better than to interrupt. (Let's not touch on his easy acceptance of the possibility of that kind of invasive observation, speaking of recovering from devastating mental health episodes.) ]
How's the food?
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Something else he can cross off his bucket list: greasy diner date with Bruce Wayne. When will your faves?
Either way, he's shoveling his food into his mouth and wondering if he's Said Too Much with how quiet Bruce seems to be about it. After all, it's not like he's exactly privy to the thoughts that go on in the man's mind and Barry himself is just a little more forthcoming with his thoughts between the two of them. But, he figures if there really was a problem Bruce had with what he'd done or said, he'd be a little more obvious about it with A Look or kick under the table or something. As it stands? He seems to be in the clear, so.
That whole you'll have to be patient though... yeah, that gets the speedster to toss his own Look Bruce's way as he dabs at his mouth with a paper napkin. Don't want any crumbs there after all. ]
Yeah, patience... isn't exactly something I'd list under my strong suits. [ Just saying. ] Do I get like a hint or something at least? Along with this [ a beat ] very delicious food.
[ Which he's about to be done in five, four, three, two... ]
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[ Bruce is a paradox of patience. He is both willing to do things like sit on a rooftop in the rain for eight hours solid, unmoving, waiting for a single mark, and spend years dedicated to unravelling a case, but also refuses to spend too many days a year doing things like this. Wastes time.
Not quite Speed Force level struggles. Which he is aware of. So, a wry caution, ] Don't go trying to push us through time to figure it out.
[ That will not help. Not with what Bruce has in store (which is potentially not that exciting, though it is potentially dire, how's that for a date), and not with him finishing his own food, which is still not halfway done. There's some bacon he hasn't even made a dent in. ]
Forensic work is a lot of hurry up and wait, you know.
[ How's he going to manage that? Get his jitters out knocking over criminals, siphoning cases from the police unit? Bruce wonders. Hopes so, but at the same time, hopes he finds himself not needed as much in Central City as someone like Batman is needed in Gotham. Time for a life, to not have to devote his whole identity to a mask. Time that might be shorter than they know, all things (in this world and others) considered. ]
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F.y.i. I've only ever gone backwards, not forwards. [ A beat, lips pursed. ] Although I might have maybe considered such possibilities since then but. That's tbd for the moment.
[ Something he'll have to figure out and cautiously test. Maybe. He still doesn't like to go breaking that rule but... there could be some good out of doing so. Things he still needs to figure out for himself. Make your own future. Make your own past.
Unlike Bruce, Barry's finished his greasy grub and not as a means to get them out of here quicker. He just eats fast. Like wolfing down that entire pizza when they first met. The life of a Snackhole who burns everything up way faster than normal.
Brushing his hands over his thighs, he takes a moment to just settle before his overactive mind touches on something he deems important and he looks back over to Bruce with teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a second. ]
Yeah but- can I just... I mean... can you keep what I told you on the downlow from the others? [ A sheepish look, he puffs out a sigh, scratching at his cheek. ] It's just... not really a big deal and I figure it's probably better? To just not have to worry about something that didn't happen but did except it didn't because... yeah.
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Time Guy. Static Future. Clock Man.
Horrible.
Bruce can't answer the tender plea, because their waitress returns with more coffee. He asks her about making a second round of his order (without the eggs), to go. Alfred can complain about reheating it, but secretly enjoy the unrestrained luxury of shitty diner food.
When they're relatively alone again, Bruce nods slowly. Still thinking, but offering agreement anyway. ]
Of course, [ he says, nearly done with his food by now. ] It isn't something that you should be expected to shoulder alone, though.
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That part about not needing to shoulder things on his own, however, has Barry toss a curious glance over to Bruce. ]
Says the guy who probably shoulders a lot more alone than I do?
[ Yeah he's calling the guy out after he's treated him (so far) to this late night diner outing plus milkshakes PLUS not being peeved at finding him just chilling in the back of his car in the middle of the night. A little ballsy to do? Maybe. But it's not with malicious intent or even snide in how he does. Rather, he offers him a quiet but understanding look before he glances down to his lap and fishes out his phone from his pocket. ]
Wow. Look at the time. We better get going if you want to show me that thing.
[ And he leans in a bit to wink before he blinks, squints, pauses. ]
Wait that... kinda came off more creepy than I intended it to.
[ Just a bit. ]
I'll drive this time?
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Maybe he'd have liked help. Camaraderie. Support in some way that wasn't doomed to abandonment, betrayal, and death. (Still could be, he supposes, but why dig graves you can't fill yet.)
Anywhoo. Eyebrows up, beneath the hat. That thing. What will this waitress think of them, Barry. ]
Do you know how to drive a stick shift?
[ He can see the clamshell in a plastic bag being ferried their way, so Bruce consults his wallet, prepared to overcompensate as usual on the tip. He has lobbied for comfortable living wages for all servicepeople before, but it's always just him and the Ben and Jerry's guys in senate hearings. So, tips it is. ]
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You drive stick shift?
[ He feels he knows this. Or should since, they kinda drove over here together. In the same car. Sitting there right beside Bruce while trying not to get milkshake all over the seats. Yeah. Guess he'd been a little bit more interested in other things? A mystery. But. Now he's not so sure he's feeling super confidant about taking Bruce's hot wheels for a spin back to his place.
When that clamshell is brought on over in that plastic bag, Barry takes this as their cue to exit and certainly catches that curiously questioning look on their waitress' face.
So. Just to clear up any sort of mis-communi-kay going on here, he gestures between him and Bruce with a finger as he slips out of the booth. All smiles. ]
We're together. I mean- we work together. We're... co-workers. At the same... place of work.
[ Ok he is... so not selling this and he's just gonna stop right there with an awkward rub of the back of his head and just duck right on out of there, bye!! Normal non-metahuman speed. No flashy lightning bolt super speed. But he definitely keeps a certain sort of speed about him that would make you think he was a professional mall walker. ]
Why do I say half the things I do sometimes? Not cool, Barry. So not cool.
[ Muttering to himself as he waits for Bruce, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets and hurries on over to the car. ]
Uh, so. Maybe I'm not that well-versed with the whole stick shift kinda life? You know, if we're being honest here with each other about things.
[ Aka maybe he should just NOT try and drive this... very expensive car. ]
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In the parking lot, he huffs an exhale of air, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Barry's ridiculousness is charming despite everything. ]
Well. [ Clickclick, the doors open. ] Want to learn?
[ Bruce stands where he is, letting the younger pan pick driver or passenger. If all else fails, Bruce is adept in yanking a steering wheel this way and that while also operating the gear shaft with the wrong hand. And he can afford another one of these no problem. (Though he's probably getting a BMW for his next around town car, the doors on this thing get tedious.)
Possibly a moment levity before he shows Barry what he's got on file back at the cave. ]
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But oh. He's... actually getting a choice here? Well... then... so much power. No, not really. He does, however, look over to the other man a little more thoughtfully which, with Barry, only really lasts for a couple of seconds with how quick he is to process things. Pros and cons, the good and the bad, should and shouldn't. Ultimately, he run his hand over his mouth to grasp his chin in "thought" before he smiles over to Bruce. ]
Yeah sure. You only live once, right?
[ Or... not really since... time reversal but... anyways.
Zipping around to the driver's side of the car, he keeps that eager smile on his face and holds his hand out for the keys. ]
Can I just say I completely admire the amount of trust you continue to have in me and everything that I do?
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Doors: Close. Seatbelts: on. Meme competition line. ]
Alright, so you've got one hand on the wheel, and the other on the gear.
[ Bruce can drive anything, can build a car from scratch, but ME ON THE OTHER HAND DRIVES A MEDIOCRE HONDA WITH AN AUTOMATIC,, so,,, Barry is subjected to patient but direct instruction, about the placement of the gear shaft and when to hit the gas.
If all else fails, ('You're flooding it') Bruce can handle the shifting and Barry can just press down on the pedal and steer. Teamwork.
Halfway back: ] You can drive in general, though, right.
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Barry? Just gives a long uhhhhhhhhhh before answering. ]
...if by driving you mean making a getaway in GTA, then yeah, sure. But hey, no time like the present for a crash course, right?
[ Waggling his brows over at Bruce, he laughs about two point five seconds later and waves a hand around dramatically. ] I'm kidding! Of course I know. Wow, what kind of person do you take me for? [ A beat, as he starts up the ignition. ] Don't actually answer that?
[ Hands on the steering wheel, he grips it nice and tight, teeth sinking down into his bottom lip before he throws a curious smile over to Bruce. Does he look good behind the wheel, Bruce? Does he? ]
So how fast can this baby go? [ Once again, a beat, because a thought comes to him and he looks to Bruce Super Seriously. ] Can I drive the Batmobile?
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I'M ALIVE
back for the filth π
my irl schedule is honestly homophobic lately
sprays it away from u
thank
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