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Hal had become a master at breaking into Barry’s apartment. Or, maybe Barry had just become used to leaving him avenues for entry at odd hours of the day and night. Regardless, Hal felt comfortable sliding into Barry’s living room from the window. Comfortable that he hadn’t woken up Barry, comfortable that Barry would forgive him for arriving a day later than promised. Hal’s diplomatic mission-turned-coup had gone remarkably well, or as well as any anti-fascist coup could go. His muscles were sore in that way he relished, his work was fulfilling. And now he’s privy to Barry’s bed, Barry’s warm embrace. Hal shivered, despite himself.
He powered down his ring and shrugged his jacket off. He moved to place it where he usually did, on the back of Barry’s sofa, but paused. Barry’s own clothes laid there. Hal frowned and looked around, tossing his jacket on top of Barry’s slacks. There were empty mugs strewn across Barry’s coffee and end tables. Some still had tea bags in them. There was also a bottle of melatonin discarded on the floor. Hal picked it up, and tossed it into the kitchen trash when he realized it was empty.
The kitchen wasn’t much better than the living room. Two completely empty boxes of chamomile tea sat on the counter. Protein bar wrappers were everywhere: crumbled on the counter, on the kitchen table, on the floor. Hal had to wonder if Barry had cooked for himself at all in the past several days. Against his better judgement, Hal messaged Bruce.
Hal: has jl met lately. or have you talked to flash at all.
Bat: It’s 4am.
Hal: answer the question without being an ass for once
Bat: The Flash has shown up to meetings. I haven’t spoken to him lately, he’s isolated himself in Central for the most part. Why.
Hal dropped his phone when it hit him. None of Barry’s photos were out. Barry normally had photos everywhere- of Iris, of Wally, of Jay and Joan, of the JL in plainclothes. Of Hal. To be sure, Hal glanced through the living room, the foyer, the walls. Nothing.
Picking up his phone and shoving it in his pocket, Hal scrambled to Barry’s room. He opened the door gently, quietly, wanting to assume that Barry would be tucked safely but ring ready if that wasn’t the case. Relief flooded his body when he saw that Barry was curled in bed. Relief became worry as Hal watched Barry twitch and grasp at sheets. Barry was muttering, whimpering, and his brow furrowed into harsh lines. Hal had served in the Air Force. He recognized PTSD when he saw it. Hal stepped forward. He had meant to strip and then crawl into the bed with Barry, to hold him and talk about the missing pictures. But before he could, Barry shot up with a shout. His eyes were wild and his chest was heaving with the weight of his breathing. Sweat glistened on his forehead.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Barry chanted, pulling at his own hair.
“Bar. Bar… Barry?” Hal said. Barry shouted again, and tears slid down his cheeks. Hal frowned. “Bar, can you hear me? Bar!” Hal strode towards Barry.
A hand grabbed Hal’s shoulder and a construct slammed the intruder against the wall. Hal turned as his uniform formed. Batman grunted.
“What. Are you. Doing here?” Hal ground out, his fury tightening the construct’s hold. Batman made no move to struggle or escape. Barry’s whimpering and shouting filled every edge of the room.
“He’s still asleep,” Bruce said. “This is a night terror. You shouldn’t wake him up.”
Barry let out a sob and Hal’s helplessness threatened to choke him. “What the fuck do you mean I shouldn’t wake him up? Do you hear him?” Hal clenched his fists tightly enough to hurt. The ring hummed.
“They’re inconsolable during the episode. Waking them up is hard and traumatic. It will pass on its own. Best thing you can do is stay and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”
Hal released Bruce from the construct, head jerking to watch as Barry fell back on the bed and thrashed, at times vibrating. “Why are you here?” Hal asked again.
“Your texts concerned me. I wasn’t aware you were here, and so I thought to check on the Flash.”
“You didn’t realize he was acting off until I pointed it out,” Hal said bluntly. Bruce nodded, and Hal restrained himself from throwing Bruce against the wall again. Or maybe against something harder. Like, say, the asphalt of the street several floors below.
“Leave,” Hal demanded, turning fully towards Barry.
Batman turned to leave the room and, Hal assumed, exit from the living room window back to whatever boom tube or plane he had hiding out, but he paused to add, “Dick used to get them.” Then he was gone, leaving what Hal could only assume was an offer of advice if Hal chose to take him up on it later. Hal shook his head. Boundary-less asshole.
Hal powered down the ring and slid it from his finger to place it next to Barry’s ring on the night stand. He kicked off his shoes and clothes and crawled in behind Barry so that he could bracket Barry’s body with his legs. He didn’t move to restrain Barry, he just slid his arms around Barry’s waist and buried his face against Barry’s sweat-slick shoulder.
“’S gonna be okay, Bar,” he murmured, more for his own benefit than Barry’s. “I’ve got you.”
“He’s gonna kill them,” Barry choked out as he sobbed. Hal lifted his head, startled.
“What? Who?”
“All of them,” Barry vibrated and thrashed. Hal loosened his grip to give Barry room as he did. “Iris, Wally, Hal, he’s going to kill Hal and it’s going to be my fault because I knew better. I knew better, and I did it anyway, and he’s going to kill them, and it’s all my fault because I knew better and I still let them close…” Barry kept going, but his words were becoming less and less coherent. Hal thought to ask who was going to kill him, but he already knew the answer.
There was only one person who could make Barry Allen blame himself for loving other people, and it was the same person who had taken the most from Barry.
“Well he’s not going to kill me,” Hal retorted. “And even if he did, I’d just come right back. I always do.”
Barry didn’t appear to hear him, but as the minutes drew forward, Barry began to calm down. The thrashing eased into just gentle tossing and turning. The shouting ceased. Even his sobs slowed into sniffles. Eventually, he relaxed entirely in Hal’s grip. After a few minutes, after Hal was sure that the night terror had ended, he unwound from Barry’s body.
Hal was exhausted as he gently lay Barry back down on the bed and curled up behind him to spoon him properly. He slid his arm around Barry’s waist, tucked his knees into the crooks of Barry’s, and nuzzled behind Barry’s ears. Barry stirred.
“Hal?” Barry murmured, voice hoarse. “When did you get in?” Barry shifted in Hal’s grip, rolling over to face Hal. Barry looked terrible. His face was ashen, and still damp and tear streaked. Still, Hal didn’t resist as Barry kissed Hal’s forehead, and then the tip of Hal’s nose. “Missed you,” Barry confessed, draping his hand over Hal’s waist. Hal furrowed his brow.
“You don’t remember it, do you?”
Barry frowned. “Remember what?” Hal wanted to run his fingers through Barry’s hair and detangle it. He didn’t.
Instead, Hal just shook his head. “You were asleep. You had a night terror.” Hal almost regretted saying anything. Barry’s entire body became rigid, and Barry’s eyes were briefly wild again. Shushing in a way that he hoped was soothing, Hal entangled their legs.
“Don’t do that,” Hal murmured. “I just wanted to check on you. I’ve never seen you do that before… what happened?”
Barry shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Hal tried again.
“All of your pictures are missing. I don’t think you’ve been eating. Bar, what can I do to help?”
At that, Barry opened his eyes and looked at Hal with such desperation, Hal’s heart broke, “You can’t. You can’t help. He’s… he can take you and I wouldn’t even know you were gone.” As if he could hold Hal there, Barry tightened his grip around Hal’s waist and buried his face against Hal’s neck. There wasn’t any need to ask who Barry was talking about. Hal just stroked Barry’s back.
“He’s not touching me,” Hal promised.
“You can’t make that promise,” Barry shot back.
“But I am making that promise. He won’t touch me. I can’t kill with the ring, but I’ve got hands too. Bet I could sling him into space, at the very least.”
“Stop,” Barry snorted, shoving Hal gently. “I don’t want him dead, I just… I want him gone. I want him to leave me alone. Just… to leave me alone.”
Fury burned in Hal, harsher than he wished he was capable of. He wanted to protect Barry from Thawne; prevent Thawne from having ever entered Barry's life. He knew he couldn't, but that didn't make the want subside. To Barry he said, “How about this: you call in sick to work tomorrow and sleep in. I’ll clean up the apartment and make you breakfast. Then we can watch a movie or something. How’s that sound?”
Barry shook his head. “Don’t… don’t leave until I wake up. Please?”
“I won’t, Bar. I’m not going anywhere.”