He's about as tall as the Barry from home, but not as bulky. His voice is different, even if the way he says things is similar. He doesn't know that when Wally was a kid, he always reacted better to having his hair ruffled than his back patted, but it doesn't matter.
Barry suggests moving and Wally makes fists at the back of his shirt, holding on tighter. All he wants is five minutes, just five minutes of not being someone who has to hold things together, five minutes he can't have with anybody else, not Jaime, not even Robin. What he really wants is for all of this to go away but there's no way to make that happen. Hell, even if he died here he'd just be brought right back...and it would be kind of ridiculous to expect dying to make his fear of dying go away.
This isn't the Barry from home. And this isn't the Barry who'd always yank him out of the way of trouble, the one who taught him how to run, who'd carried him to the hospital that one time he took a spike of ice to the knee. This isn't the Barry he watched on TV for hours and hours on end, and this isn't the Barry who took him to museums and desperately tried to buy his love before he figured out how to earn it because he'd just wanted Wally to like him, had just wanted some dumb ginger kid to look up to him and love him like family.
It's not the same.
But this'll do fine.
Wally doesn't let Barry pull him into the house for at least another five minutes and by then he's calmed down considerably. He sits down at the table without a fuss, eyes red and puffy and nose still running until he can blow it. He's miserable, sure, but more than anything he looks tired. He just looks so tired and he feels tired and he wants to lay his head down and sleep for weeks and not deal with anything anymore.]
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He's about as tall as the Barry from home, but not as bulky. His voice is different, even if the way he says things is similar. He doesn't know that when Wally was a kid, he always reacted better to having his hair ruffled than his back patted, but it doesn't matter.
Barry suggests moving and Wally makes fists at the back of his shirt, holding on tighter. All he wants is five minutes, just five minutes of not being someone who has to hold things together, five minutes he can't have with anybody else, not Jaime, not even Robin. What he really wants is for all of this to go away but there's no way to make that happen. Hell, even if he died here he'd just be brought right back...and it would be kind of ridiculous to expect dying to make his fear of dying go away.
This isn't the Barry from home. And this isn't the Barry who'd always yank him out of the way of trouble, the one who taught him how to run, who'd carried him to the hospital that one time he took a spike of ice to the knee. This isn't the Barry he watched on TV for hours and hours on end, and this isn't the Barry who took him to museums and desperately tried to buy his love before he figured out how to earn it because he'd just wanted Wally to like him, had just wanted some dumb ginger kid to look up to him and love him like family.
It's not the same.
But this'll do fine.
Wally doesn't let Barry pull him into the house for at least another five minutes and by then he's calmed down considerably. He sits down at the table without a fuss, eyes red and puffy and nose still running until he can blow it. He's miserable, sure, but more than anything he looks tired. He just looks so tired and he feels tired and he wants to lay his head down and sleep for weeks and not deal with anything anymore.]