"Congratulations."
Bedecked in his suit, Barry dips his head in a nod even though a suited-up Wally can't see it. "Thank you," he says, sitting beside him on the rooftop. He sets a sizeable paper bag next to Wally, who promptly tips it over and snags a cronut. Barry takes one for himself and for a few minutes, they eat in silence, watching the sunrise.
"It's weird to think you know my dad better than I do," Wally admits, sinking his teeth into his cronut.
Barry nods again. "Yeah, there's – a lot that's weird."
"I don't mean it in a bad way," Wally explains, retrieving a kid-sized bottle of orange juice from the bag and cracking the seal without losing his partial smile. "It's just a lot to process. I never thought I'd have a brother-in-law." He drains the bottle and fishes around for a second.
"Me neither," Barry admits, because for most of his life, he knew Iris as an only child. Snagging one of the four remaining orange juices, he holds out his bottle in a toast. Wally taps it and they both drink, "To future brothers-in-law."
"This doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you," Wally warns, taking a banana from the bag.
"Yeah, tell me how many races have you won, exactly?" Barry teases, snatching the banana from his hand. He deserves it when Wally steals his orange juice, trading back after a beat. (He doesn't miss Wally hoarding the remaining three bottles for himself.)
"If we were racing cars," Wally begins with wistful remembrance, devouring the banana and dropping the peel off to one side.
Barry tilts his head, acknowledging the truth there. "Touché."
Wally picks a granola bar out of the bag, munching thoughtfully. Swallowing, he asks, "What was it like? Other than trippy."
"In the – dream?" Barry clarifies, faltering a little. Hallucination? Alternate universe? At Wally's nod, he elaborates, "Like being in a musical."
Wally cuts him a side-eye that is simultaneously disbelieving and delighted. "No way," he says.
Sotto voce, Barry says, "Joe? Can sing."
"Oh, I gotta see that," Wally says, and he looks ready to round up the bag and drag the poor man out of bed. He comes to his senses – it's 5:48 AM – and deflates a little. Then, brightening, he adds, "Who else sang?"
"Uh—Cisco, Winn – you haven't met him yet, he's from Kara's Earth – Kara, Kara can sing – Dr. Stein – other half of Firestorm – and Malcolm Merlyn, of all people."
"Who's he?" Wally asks, biting deep into a muffin.
"Very bad man," Barry summarizes, mirroring him.
"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Wally teases, and Barry's blush gives him away.
"It was – under duress," he defends, turning as red as his suit, and Wally giggles a little.
"Dad said you tap-danced, too."
Barry's face is going to burst into flames. "I – did what I had to," he says in a deeply dignified voice, comically at odds with his complexion. "It was fun," he defends, and stuffs his mouth full of muffin to keep from putting his foot farther in it.
Wally exhales deep, sounding satisfied. "I would pay to have a video of that," he says in a sad if-only voice. "Barry Allen: fastest tap-dancer alive."
"I am never bringing you breakfast again," Barry says fervently, washing down his muffin with one of Wally's hoarded OJs. "Ever."
"Bullshit," Wally calls, demanding, "what did you sing?"
"Gregorian chants," Barry replies.
"I know where you sleep," Wally warns. "And I own a buzzer."
Barry pictures himself bald and promptly waves the white flag. "We– uh– madeupanoriginalsong," he blurts, but Speed-talking doesn't work with speedsters.
"Did this song have lyrics?" Wally prompts, taking a menacingly slow bite of a cronut and oh, Barry is gonna kill him.
"Yes," he grunts, rooting unsuccessfully in the bag for another baked good to stall. He thinks about making a break for it and knows that, despite his claims to the contrary, Wally is faster. Defeated, he presses a hand over his eyes. "We … called it … super friends."
There is a beat so loud it is like some otherworldly creature rings the gong of the Earth. Then Wally repeats with deathbed sincerity, "Super friends?"
Barry literally puts the empty bag over his head and nods once.
Wally's laughter is worth the embarrassment, he thinks, and knows they must make a sight: Flash and Kid Flash sitting on a rooftop, Kid doubled over, Flash folded arms and an honest-to-God paper bag over his head.