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."