Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So, you and Spooky...."

Barry's eyes flick to the right, tracking Hal's approach in the reflection off the Watchtower's floor-to-ceiling windows. Wordlessly, he lets his gaze slide back to the breathtaking view: the Earth, sun, and moon twirling effortlessly around each other against a brilliant starscape, the splendor dazzling in the inky blackness of empty space.

Except in his mind it's overlayed with deep crimson splashes and the harsh glare of fluorescent lights striking metal. Flinching, he crosses his arms more tightly over his chest, fingers claw-like where they grip his biceps.

"Soooooo, what's that all about?" the Lantern prods after he's waited at this friend's side for almost a minute without the slightest acknowledgment.

The phantom tang of copper hits his nose, leeching into his throat, and Barry's stomach roils. He grunts in response, jaw clenched tightly enough to make his molars grind.

"Now, now, Bartholomew, use your words," Hal chides, draping his arm around the blond's shoulders companionably – and then quickly yanking it away as if burned when he catches a glimpse of the storm raging over Barry's face, evident even with his cowl obscuring most of his features.

"Damn, Barr, I realize it's a normal day all around when Bats and I go at it loud enough to wake the dead...," The Lantern doesn't miss how his friend visibly shakes at his words. "...but when you pop off like Gardner, even on one of his good days, we all know the shit's gone sideways." Which he thinks is an obvious enough opening for an explanation, but apparently the scientist disagrees.

The speedster remains resolutely silent.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Rounding on the other man, Hal slips into the razor-thin space between Barry and the window, doing his best to mimic his friend's stance despite having zero room to maneuver. "What the hell is going on?" Remarkably, the words come out more curious and concerned than annoyed. It's probably the only reason he escapes a punch to the face; his ring flares in warning as Barry's hands curl.

"I can't tell you," Barry whispers, voice brittle as he glares daggers at the expanse of the galaxy beyond them.

"Uh uh," Hal replies obstinately, letting his domino mask fade. Taking the scientist's face in his hands, he forces the man to look at him. Barry's anger has always burned cold before igniting into speedforce-fueled fury, and the shards of raw rage and pain he sees swirling in the depths of the man's crystal-blue eyes freeze the air in his lungs.

The blond says nothing, lips twisting into a cruel smirk as Hal struggles under the weight of his friend's ire.

"You know, you're really having trouble with this 'best friend' thing lately, Barr," the Lantern says roughly, frustration lacing his words, the undertone of hurt unmistakable.

"You know, you're really having trouble with this 'listening' thing lately, Harold," Barry counters. "You might want to work on that."

"Right, I'll do that while I wait over there for you explode. Or better yet, for you to vibrate through the floor and into space – that ought to cool you down a bit." The electric charge in the air has the hairs on the back of Hal's neck on end, and his eyes burn with strain as the scientist seems to go fuzzy around the edges.

"Since when did you have a monopoly on Bat-related animosity?" the speedster spits out.

A rude noise rumbles in the back of the Lantern's throat. "I think there's plenty of that to go around – probably enough to fuel an army. So why don't we commiserate a bit and you tell me what's going on."

"I told you," Barry replies, his tone low and dangerous, "I can't."

"Why? Because it seems like there are a lot of things you don't tell me lately. Like the fact that you're into men. Like the fact that you have a boyfriend...."

"Barry has a boyfriend?!" The exclamation comes from the adjoining corridor, and two heads whip to the side as Superman appears, his eyes wide with surprise.

Of course, trailing just behind him in the shadows is Batman.

Barry's lips press into a bloodless slash as he regards the duo. "Thanks, Hal," he growls darkly, not bothering to mask his scorn – or even glance at his friend as he speaks. "So much."

"Yeah, all my fault. Sorry for caring," the Lantern shoots back, hands balling in exasperation as the noxious scent of ozone grows.

"You can care without being an ass about it."

Hal's sure that his ability to keep himself calm at this point is an act of will that would impress even the Guardians. "When am I not an ass about things that matter?"

Barry answers with an exasperated eye roll, and Superman seizes the opportunity to chime in once more.

"You're seeing someone?" Puppy-like excitement laces the question even though Clark is clearly confused by the animosity sparking between the two friends. "Is it someone we know?"

The speedster resolutely refuses to look at Bruce as his teeth scrape over his upper lip roughly. It's times like these he wishes he wore white-out lenses over his eyes; he's always been a shit liar.

Unlike some people he knows.

"I'd rather not discuss my personal life right now," Barry offers tersely. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye shows the millionaire's gaze narrowing, although he thankfully remains mute.

"Oh, sorry. I just thought if it was someone we knew...I mean, we could have...there could be...." Clark breaks off, embarrassment turning his face a dusty rose color; it's the side of Superman that only his friends get to see – the easily ruffled, all-to-human farmboy from Smallville that is such a contrast to his alter-ego it's no wonder a curl of hair and glasses are enough to keep them apart in the hearts and minds of the adoring public. "Congratulations," he finishes meekly.

Part of Barry hates that he feels guilty as the man's face falls, but really, aside from having a crap choice in friends, Clark hasn't done anything wrong. With a sigh that only expels a fraction of his anger, he replies, "Thank you, I appreciate that."

That's all it takes for the excited glow to return to Clark's face, his mouth taking the apology as an invitation to spew forth more questions.

"So, are we going to get to meet him?"

The blond's shoulders slump. "Clark," he says tiredly.

"I mean, if we haven't already, of course," Clark clarifies, missing the note of warning in the speedster's tone as he carries on like a child on a sugar rush.

So Barry tries to make it clearer with a sharp, "Clark."

"Does he know you're The Flash?"

"Clark!" Barry barks, the pounding in his head that started even before the League's meeting intensifying behind his eyes. What is with people? he wonders, feeling his nerves fray.

Superman at least as the courtesy to look sheepish. A split-picosecond glance shows Batman frowning in concentration like he's trying to solve one of the Riddler's puzzles, the intensity of his gaze like a blast from Cold's freeze gun to the blood in Barry's veins. The last thing Jason needs is for Bruce to make a reappearance in his life. It would probably be equally as damaging for Dick – especially now.

All that's ignoring the simple fact that if Barry remains in Bruce's presence any longer, one of them probably won't be able to walk away without assistance.

"Look," the scientist says, trying his best to sound unconcerned and completely reasonable, "when the time is right, I'm sure you'll get to meet him. Right now, as much as this has been fun, I need to go." Saving his last glare for Hal, steadfastly ignoring the way the man's eyes go heavy with hurt, Barry reaches for the speedforce and disappears in a crackle of lightning.

Chapter Text

"I need to talk to Barry."

"Well, hello to you, too, Hal," Jason replies sardonically, making no move to vacate the doorway.

For several seconds the Lantern grits his teeth, breathing in and out through his nose, nostrils flaring in imitation of bull about to charge, before delivering an icy, "Hello. Jason." Despite his best efforts, the muscles in his face twitch and his hands clench and unclench as he stands on the stoop. "I need. To talk. To Barry," he repeats, as calmly as he can manage.

Shooting a look over his shoulder and down the hall behind him, Jason returns his gaze to Hal's before replying, "I'm sorry, now's not really a good time."

Hal has to shove his ring hand into his pocket to keep himself from doing something epicly stupid. It doesn't stop him from crowding into the larger man's space, getting up in Jason's face as he says, "I really. Really. Don't give a damn. Is Barry here?"

For his part, the raven-haired man has no issue with epic stupidity, looming over the pilot and allowing his disdain to radiate. "No. So you can leave. Now."

"I'd rather wait."

Jason blinks, and in that moment of blindness Hal is somehow past him and marching down the hall, leaving the younger man gaping in the entrance.

"Jesus fuck," the raven haired man seethes, kicking the door shut before stalking after the brunet. "What the fuck is wrong with y...?!" The curse is abruptly terminated as he rounds the corner into the living room and slams into Hal's backside, the air in his lungs escaping with a startled oooomph!

The pilot, however, doesn't stumble – doesn't show so much as a sign of having felt the collision.

Regaining his balance, Jason shoves Hal again for good measure – a one-handed blow high on the back between the shoulder blades.

Still nothing.

Stomping around to the brunet's side, the younger man's mouth drops open in preparation to deliver a diatribe that would make even Black Mask blush...and then promptly clicks shuts as he takes in Hal's stricken expression – how his skin has gone deathly white, his mouth gapes in shock, eyes are wide in fear.

Like he's seen a ghost.

Like he's seen....

It's then that Jason realizes Dick is in the room, too, older pseudo-brother's expression a warring combination of happiness, relief, and...guilt?

"Y...y...you're dead." Hal's whole arm is trembling as he points a crooked index finger at the former spy.

Dick's eyes, perpetually red from days of crying, once more go watery. Scrubbing a hand over his face, his head shakes roughly, long, tangled locks emphasizing his denial.

"I was at your funeral." Hal's voice is a frayed whisper. "We put you in a box. We put you in the ground. We buried you!" The whisper has crescendoed to a shout by the time he finishes, the words as brittle as the desiccated rose petals littering Dick's grave.

The former spy continues to crumble under the verbal barrage, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks and choked sobs shaking his shoulders. "It...it was...a l...lie. I'm s...sorry, Hal...I'm sor...ry. I'm s...so...sorry!"

"You two know each...," Jason starts to say before he's cut off by the brunet, who's obviously just warming up.

"You're sorry? You're fucking sorry?! " Hal screeches incredulously. Reaching the younger man's side in three large steps, he grasps Dick's biceps hard enough that the other man flinches and tries to pull away. The Lantern holds him firm, fingers going bloodless with the strain. "Is it you?" he breathes, chest heaving as he tries to both contain his hope and maintain his anger. "Are you actually Dick? Our Dick?"

The younger man nods limply, his bloodshot gaze meeting Hal's and then slipping away to the floor. "It's me. You can...you can use your ring."

A green glow blossoms from the Lantern's hand as if it had been awaiting the invitation, the brunet's head titling to the side as he listens to something only he can hear. When the light fades moments later, his face is still pale and there are now tears in his eyes to match Dick's, but the slight curve of his lips suggest that they're of joy and not sorrow.

"It is you."

The words are said with such reverence they make Dick's heart ache, and seconds later he's being crushed in a vice-like hug. He returns it just as forcefully – even though he knows he doesn't deserve it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he mumbles, his fingers fisting in Hal's jacket, clinging to the man as an anchor against the swell of his emotions. "I'm so sorry."

A strangled sound pulls them apart before Hal can reply, and the Lantern jerks his head around to see Jason pressed into the corner between the wall and a bookcase, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stares at the pair with all the composure of a spooked horse.

"Y...you're Green Lantern," Jason stammers hoarsely.

"Oh, fuck." The words fall heavily from the pilot's mouth as he regards the other man, a familiar ache building behind his eyes. A gentle hand on his forearm has him side-eyeing Dick, who's shaking his head wearily.

"It's okay. He knows. He's...." Whatever Dick intends to say wedges in his throat as his eyes jump to Jason's face and find the younger man staring him with a familiar look of betrayal. He draws a shaky breath before once more saying, "He knows," and then falls silent.

Hal's gaze shifts between the two men for several long seconds before he finally expels a long, noisy breath. "So Barry told you?"

Something like that , Jason thinks, his eyes flitting from Dick to Hal. He gives a barely-perceptible nod; it seems a bad time to get into the details of his reunion with his so-called brother.

"And here I thought he'd take the whole year," the brunet muses to himself, missing how Jason's brow furrows as he turns back to Dick. "Although I'm assuming you had something to do with that."

Dick's answering smile is sickly and his eyes refuse to meet his bother's. "I might have showed up unannounced."

"And let me guess, the exaggerated tale of your 'death,'" Hal says, physically adding the air quotes, "has something to do with good ol' Spooky, right?" Because yeah, the source of Barry's not-so-contained rage is pretty obvious now.

Dick is saved from having to answer by the gust of wind that precedes the entrance of the speedster, himself. Barry skids to a halt in the center of the room, papers whipping in the air around him as he adopts an offensive posture, feet shoulder-width apart, hands balled at his sides, face a storm cloud of anger. "Congratulations, Hal." The words carry the fury of lightning, and Hal's ring glows brightly in response to the potential threat.

"Don't. You. Dare!" the Lantern replies hotly. "Don't you fucking dare! You were really going to keep this from me?!" he yells, jabbing a finger in Barry's chest. "You were really going to hide the fact that Dick's alive? "

"I said I couldn't tell you! Not that I wouldn't!" Barry's face flares the same crimson as his suit. Without the cover of his cowl, the muscles in his neck bulge prominently.

"Oh, yeah, so fucking subtle!" Hal fires back, the finger jab morphing into a double-handed shove.

The speedster grabs the offending limbs hard enough to bruise. "You kind of have to be when you have Superman potentially listening in on everything! " he spits out, voice low and dangerous.

"Woah, woah, hey!" Against his better judgment, Jason pushes himself off the wall and crosses the room to stand behind his boyfriend, his hands covering the older man's. "Babe, breathe, please. We all just need to breathe, okay?" He pointedly ignores the way Dick's eyes widen in comic surprise as they wait the few seconds it takes for Barry to finally release Hal – although the speedster's glare lingers. Letting out a relieved breath of his own, the younger man's arms move to envelop the blond in a loose hug, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck before resting his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder.

The silence hangs pregnant in the air, Dick gaping, Barry struggling for calm, and Hal seething. It's Hal who breaks it.

"Bruce did his." The words drip venom.

Adrenaline abruptly draining away, Barry finds he's too tired to even nod. Doing his best to melt into Jason's arms and fall asleep for the next month, he settles for a long blink of agreement.

"I didn't know until after." Dick's voice is timid as he chimes in, hugging himself as the Lantern's gaze spears him. "He held the funeral while he kept me in a coma. When I woke up...." He cringes as he remembers their brawl in the Bat Cave – his unheeded pleas falling from his bloody mouth, his body broken as he fought against crushing his loved ones with Bruce's lie. His ultimate failure in saving them from that pain. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Dick's legs buckle, and he's only saved from tumbling to the ground by the construct that darts from Hal's ring and holds him upright until Hal's own arms can envelop him and pull him close. He clutches at the older man as the sobs escape once more.

"Spooky's dead." The Lantern speaks the words into Dick's greasy, unkempt mop of hair, but his eyes glitter brightly as they meet Barry's.

"Hal...," the blond begins, the protest at odds with the animosity that alights anew in his own eyes.

"He's dead," Hal repeats firmly.

"Hal, he doesn't know Dick is here. Thanks to your little tirade on the Watchtower, now he's suspicious." The speedster feels his boyfriend tense at that statement and tries to convey as much reassurance as he can by pulling the younger man's arms more tightly around himself.

"We were talking about your love life," the brunet counters, "not the newest member of the 'you only live twice' club."

Barry again feels Jason go stiff behind him, a strained, fearful squeak escaping his lips. Entwining his fingers in his boyfriend's, he raises them to his lips and presses a kiss to Jason's knuckles. "You have no idea what Clark overheard. Either way, Bruce digs in, it leads him here."

"I'd ask why he cares who you're dating, but given it's Bruce...." Hal lets the sentence hang; it's Bruce. Batman. No further explanation is necessary.

"So what now?" The question comes from Dick, his gaze going from Barry and Jason to the stairway across the hall, as if he could see into the upstairs bedroom where Tiger, still weak and in pain from his surgery and healing injuries, is hopefully resting.

An unhappy growl from Barry's stomach makes the decision for all of them.

"Food," the speedster replies wearily. "Food first, then..." He waves his hand vaguely as he slumps in Jason's arms. "Just, food. Everything else later." Across from him, Hal nods, the sharpness of the motion promising that he's going to hold them all to the full story of "everything else."

Too tired to fight, Barry just staggers towards the kitchen.

Chapter Text

"How are you?" the scientist asks softly, sinking down bonelessly on the bed next to his boyfriend, hands scrubbing wearily over his face.

The younger man's shoulder rises and falls noncommittally, his face a flimsy attempt at a mask of indifference.

The night had ended predictably with everyone exhausted and at the ends of their respective ropes. The retelling of Dick's beating at the Bat's hand, for it wasn't and never would be anything less, had left Hal livid with a rage further fueled by the younger vigilante's constant apologies for his role in the scheme – his insistence that none of it would have happened if he hadn't said "yes" in the first place.

Because anyone in the room actually believed Dick could or would ever say "no" to Bruce.

The tidal wave of anger had of course only led to further self-flagellation from Dick, and genuine concern from Barry that the Lantern's threats of violence against Bruce were a hairsbreadth away from becoming a reality.

It was only with significant pleading all around – Tiger, himself, making a well-timed entrance with a face warped by pain and arms wrapped protectively around his chest as he struggled to walk without aggravating his injuries – that Hal began to understand the need to lay low and heal before taking action. And only after that had they managed to extract a promise to leave Bruce alone. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't last forever – the Lantern was far too angry to hold out long – but Barry could only hope it would be enough time to get Dick and Tiger somewhere off the Bat's radar.

The real miracle, however, was that when all the shouting and threats and tear-streaked, stuttered mea culpas were said and done, Jason's secret remained secret.

No matter the constant reassurances, Barry doesn't need to be a mind-reader to tell his boyfriend is still skittish enough to bolt at a misunderstood word or a wary glance, clearly still not believing the two of them are alright. He sees the fear reflected in how the raven-haired man perches uncharacteristically on the edge of the bed, muscles tense despite his weariness, as if just waiting for the hammer to fall. He's had to be coaxed under the covers more than once since the "great reveal," and the blond imagines that in his head Jason is packing a bag, sure the moment will come.

The thought makes him sick.

"Do you need anything?" Anything at all. He makes the subtext clear. Admittedly, Barry is exhausted and not one hundred percent sure he could get it up if he tried, but he knows there are other things that'll help if his boyfriend isn't in a good enough place to rest. And he would gladly do any of them without hesitation.

Jason offers the older man a sickly but appreciative twist of his lips, shaking his head. He might feel like shit, but thankfully not like that. "It's just hard, you know," he says after taking a minute to gather his thoughts. "Dick dies and it's like so many people's world ended. He comes back, and we're caught between holding a parade and grabbing pitchforks and torches and driving a stake through Bruce's chest." With a pain-filled exhale he adds, "Neither you nor Hal even recognized me – you barely even knew there was a Robin between Dick and Tim. It...." He breaks off as he feels the return of the tightness in his chest and the telltale prick of tears in his eyes. God is he tired of crying.

Sorrow squeezing at his throat, Barry fights the leaden feeling in his limbs to shift sideways on the bed, raising one foot and sliding it behind his boyfriend, leaving the other one dangling as he inches closer to the younger man and envelopes him in a sideways hug. "Believe me, Jason," he says as his head comes to rest in the crook of the man's shoulder, "all this anger...it's not all about Dick. There's a pitchfork and a torch and one hell of a left hook waiting for Bruce that's all for you. And if Hal knew, I promise you he'd feel the same way."

But Jason is still right.

Barry can't believe they'd just glossed over it – the death of a child. The death of one of their own. He vaguely remembers the news, a story that went in one ear and out the other amidst the maelstrom that was his own life. It's a massive failing, and he can't begin to imagine how much it must hurt for his boyfriend to know how few people noticed – how few even cared.

He suddenly feels the unmistakable urge to show Jason that he's wanted, loved, not alone. Owned.

"Are you giving me a hickey?" The younger man is caught between amusement and bafflement once he realizes that the pressure on his neck is more than just a long kiss. But instead of pulling away, he bares his throat to his boyfriend with a groan that both men feel in their in their toes.

For Barry, it's like his lips move of their own accord, thought to action without a logic check in between. But he doesn't care if it's crazy, he's made his choice, and his choice is Jason. Laving the bruised skin lightly with his tongue before pulling back slightly, he whispers, "I love you. You're mine. You matter to me. You belong here, with me." He nips lightly at the mark, high enough up on Jason's neck that no collar will hide it. "And I want everyone to know that if they fuck with you, they fuck with me, too."

Jason's chest rises and falls rapidly within the circle of Barry's arms, his features overcome by the same emotion that's stealing his breath and making him feel like he just punched and kicked and shot his way through the entirety of Gotham's underworld to get to this place. To get home. And it was all worth it. Even more so when he hears Barry's next words.

"Even Bruce. Especially Bruce."

Jason's gaze skates to Barry's, what little breath that was left in his lungs rushing out at the fiery resolve in the older man's eyes. And in that moment, he knows he can believe it – that it'll always be true. It's almost too much, and he buries his head against the blond's chest, turning into the hug to hide his tears – as if the shaking of his shoulders doesn't give him away. There's a hand in his hair, carding gently through the messy strands, and one under his shirt over his heart, and he has no words to explain what it feels like as the dam bursts and all the stress of the last couple of days rushes out.

Barry just holds him through it, sometimes silent, sometimes murmuring words of comfort.

It takes several minutes for the tide to ebb, but once it does, Jason is limp in his boyfriend's arms, the only thing he really registers being the warmth that surrounds him.

"Feel better?" The roughness in Barry's voice suggests Jason wasn't the only one crying. The younger man nods, and the blond drops a kiss to the top of his head. "What say we get some sleep then?"

Jason means to say "yes," but what comes out instead is, "What did he mean?"

"What did who mean?" the older man replies, craning his neck so he can see his boyfriend's face.

"Hal, earlier," Jason says with a gusty exhale, really wishing he'd just taken the cue to fall asleep; his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth, and he doubts his brain is really capable of handling anything complex without a meltdown. "He said he thought you'd take the whole year. What did he mean?"

The silence hangs above him, and when Jason finally looks up, his boyfriend has his head tipped back, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"That's how long I gave myself," the scientist says, feeling Jason's gaze on him, "to tell you I was The Flash. A year."

Struggling to sit up, the younger man twists so he's facing his boyfriend. "And what would have happened if you hadn't?" The way Barry looks away makes his breath catch, and he really really wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

"If the year was up and I still felt I couldn't trust you enough to tell you...." Barry trails off, his voice heavy with resignation. "I hated lying to you, Jason. It was the worst feeling in the world. I know there was a reason, but it didn't make it any easier to look you in the eye and do that. So as much as I loved you, if I didn't think I could trust you, I would have...." The words catch in his throat, and it's like he physically has to drag them out. "I would have walked away."

The declaration is like a gut punch, and Jason's hand goes to his neck – to the mark, to what just minutes ago was proof that this was his home and his love – with the sinking feeling that it was all a lie. Because his boyfriend hadn't decided to tell him, he'd been forced to.

"Hey, hey, no. Just...no," Barry says, reading the doubt and the pain in Jason's eyes clearly, grabbing at the younger man's arms as he tries to pull away. "Jason, listen to me. Just listen. Please. Please!"

It's not easy, but Jason wills himself to stop struggling and meet the older man's gaze. In it he sees regret and an apology.

"I had already decided to tell you, I swear," Barry says. "After that night at the bar, when you told me you loved me."

Jason's gaze falters as he does the math. "That...that was months ago." His voice is as watery as his eyes.

Placing a hand gently on his boyfriend's chin, Barry forces the younger man to again look at him. "And the weekend Dick showed up, I had it all planned out to take you back to the lake, ply you with good food and wine, beg your forgiveness, and tell you the truth. That's why I asked you to keep those days open – because I wanted to make sure we had time to talk." Shoulders drooping, he adds, "It took me so long because I didn't know how to do this. Iris loved The Flash before she loved me; he was her story – her career. I wasn't afraid she'd leave, I was afraid she'd stay – for all the wrong reasons. But you...I had no idea how you'd react. You left Gotham to get away from crime and violence; it didn't even occur to me until later that you might think I was dragging you back into it."

As he stares into Barry's eyes, Jason wants to feel hurt and betrayed, but it takes a back seat to the epiphany that slams into him with gale force. "I would have left." He says the words as if he's still turning them over, analyzing them, but he knows they're true. "I would have left," he says again, suddenly nauseous. "You would have told me, and I would have left."

It's the speedster's turn to look panicked. "What? Why?" he asks, his hands going tight around the younger man's arms.

Grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, Jason's voice is hoarse as he says, "Because I wouldn't have been able to tell you the truth. I didn't want you to know my past – I never wanted you to know. I already had a hard enough time trying to understand why a cop would want to be with me. The hardest part of all of this has been trying to get my head around why The Flash would." He looks away as his face falls, pressing his lips together in a broken line as he struggles for control. "I wouldn't have been able to tell you, and...knowing you're The Flash, that you're a hero, a member of the Justice League.... I wouldn't have been able to be with you if you didn't know who I was. It wouldn't have been fair – I couldn't...I just couldn't leave you vulnerable like that." He pauses, whole body deflating, before adding, "And I wouldn't have been able to tell you."

Jason's hand goes to his neck again, hating himself just a little bit more as, across from him, the man he loves stares back, hand hiding his mouth but leaving his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks fully visible.

"I would have lost you."

That single statement sucks the air from the room and leaves them both gasping.

"I would have lost you, and I'd never know why."

"Barr...," Jason tries to say, but it comes out strangled and incomplete, a mirror of how he's feeling inside.

"I love you, Jason," Barry says, surging forward in the silence and crushing his boyfriend in a bruising hug. "I do. Barry Allen does."

"But...," Jason protests weakly.

"Jesus, Jason, no 'buts,'" the older man replies, practically begging. "Please. You have to believe this is real – I can't do it for you. If you can't, we'll both lose."

A slightly hysterical giggle forces its way past Jason's lips as he turns his head into his boyfriend's throat. "Dick said the same thing," he mumbles, hiding the words against skin as if admitting annoying older pseudo-brother was right about anything would make Hell freeze.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's another one we owe him," the speedster replies softly, tightening the embrace before pulling away. His eyes go to Jason's neck, a small smile quirking at his lips as an idea forms. Brushing his fingers over the mark gently, he says, "I will make sure this never fades, if that's what it takes. I'll put it there every day, again and again, if you need me to. But there's only so much I can do; you have to find a way to believe me."

Jason doesn't mean to, but he groans – loudly – eyes falling shut under his boyfriend's caress.

"Babe?"

Even with eyes closed, the younger man can practically see the confusion on Barry's face. "Hmmm?" he replies, unconsciously baring his neck again.

"Oh god, this is a 'thing,' right?"

The amused eye roll is audible, but so is the endearment (and the worry) underneath, and Jason lets out a watery laugh, because it's definitely a 'thing' – just one he didn't know he had.

"We're not having sex," Barry says dryly, tempering his words with a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead and another hug.

Pouting, Jason whispers, "You asked if I needed anything." He's not even really in the mood, just being contrary, but his boyfriend laughs again, louder, just as he'd hoped.

"Yeah, well, there's something I need from you first, okay?" Leaning back, the older man makes sure he has Jason's full attention before he says, "I need you to think of all the ways you know I love you." His boyfriend brow furrows at that, head canting in question. Barry just smiles. "When you have them all, you're going to tell me each one, one by one, and I'm going to mark it on your skin."

The noise Jason makes is utterly embarrassing, a high-pitched, needy keen more worthy of a child than a grown adult. He can't bring himself to care – not when Barry once more pulls him close and whispers, "And when I'm finished, if I've done this whole 'boyfriend thing' right, you won't be able to look at yourself without knowing how much I love you."