Bam, don't you love it when I do bluepulse-ish stuff? 'Cause I often do. There's more in line that I have for these two, I'm just too lazy to do write them out. AU of the song Wallet by Regina Spektor.
Disclaimer: I own neither Bart Allen, Jaime Reyes, or the song mentioned.
Bart stumbled through his day at work, stacking shelf after shelf of food supplies and medicine and groceries and repeating. Day in and day out. A slow washer machine that just kept spinning and spinning and spinning and was occasionally interrupted by something. Or someone.
The someone's were usually just family members stopping by to say hello, or to catch up, or to invite him for a holiday that he would accept no matter what.
But this someone—no, this was a something—was somehow different in Bart's bland life. He found it in front of his bike on day after a rather boring day at work. It was brown and pieces of money were sticking out of a pocket. The former Boy Scout in Bart kicked in, and his hand reached down and grabbed it, shoving it in a jacket pocket for later investigation. Before its haphazard placement in the brunette's pocket, he did a quick scan of who owned the wallet.
A man named Jaime Reyes. And then it disappeared in his jacket, only to be seen later on that night, right after Bart filled his nearly empty stomach with something substantial.
The wallet burned a hole in his pocket, but Bart didn't touch it directly. Didn't fidget his hands to fiddle with the leather. Didn't bring it out at all except for small slips in his mind, though he did his best to place it out of his. Most attempts were in vain, and he patted his pocket on occasion throughout his meal. Just to make sure it was there.
And when his meal was over, he paid with his own money, peeling the red rubber band from the small bundle of cash, credit cards, his driver license, and library card. Appropriate amount of tip placed under his water glass, Bart left the establishment and rode home to his apartment.
The moment he kicked the door shut, he threw the wallet to the ground next to his coffee table. A groan escaped his lips at the failure to make the brown leather that wasn't his land on the table. But he let it sit there for a little while longer.
Flipping red and white sneakers off his feet, Bart dipped his hands into his jean pockets, revealing an assortment of change, which was deposited in a glass ashtray on the stand near the kitchen. His keys landed next to the tray, followed by the bundle of cash.
He half wanted to lay down on the couch and sleep for the moment, but his gaze fell on the wallet laying on the ground. Falling to his knees and then his belly, Bart opened it, making sure to shove all the money back in that had fallen out.
The first thing in the wallet that he saw was a picture of a family. One of those cheesy ones where they're all standing in front of a house, smiling. A girl that looked about twelve stood before the grown-ups, face caught in the act of laughing. A mom and dad stood next to a boy-man whom looked twenty in the picture; the parents seemed proud of their creation.
Bart continued flipping through the wallet, searching for something that lead to where Jaime lived, or something less stalker-y than that.
The dying light of the sun almost made Bart stand and turn on the overhead lamp, but he felt compelled to continue looking through the wallet. His ID was the next thing to show his face.
Jaime Reyes it read. The small picture next to his name didn't make him out as young as the family photo in the front did. Why, he looked about as old as Bart! But Bart did the math. The brunette was twenty-two, while Mystery Wallet Guy was two years older. And while he looked at the fall birthday, he realized that the license was recently expired.
He placed the ID next to the leather wallet, noting the address being in the same town as him. Not that he thought he had found a wallet from London or anything. If he couldn't find anything else in the item, then he would resort to placing it in his mailbox.
As Bart filed through the money keeper, he was briefly reminded of a mystery novel, and he was the detective, trying to piece together the puzzle of the reason why this guy died. But Jaime Reyes was not dead, and Bart was in no way a detective. He'd just been reading too many books and watching too much TV. So the thought fell from his mind as a stick of Juicy Fruit was folded next to a ten dollar bill.
Quite obviously old from the wrinkles and the dying smell of it, Bart wanted to know how long it sat in the wallet, unseen and sad. Not that the piece of gum could be sad, but he just wanted to feed his curiosity.
After the gum and the ten dollar bill, Bart came upon a receipt. Crinkled but still rather new, it was for a pair of leather boots from the shop next to his work. The shop explains the rather hasty placing of the money and the dropping of the wallet, and Bart continues looking for an address.
But, after many flipping throughs of the small wallet, he finds nothing. Nothing but a ten dollar bill, an ID, a picture of a happy family, an old piece of Juicy Fruit, and a crinkled receipt for shoes. And, with Bart's failure of finding some other way to get the Jaime Reye's wallet to him, Bart sighs. Standing, Bart places the wallet next to the door, reminding himself to take it to the address in the morning, right before his afternoon shift at work, and walks to his bed.
Coming upon a house turned apartment, Bart places a foot to balance himself on his bike. Red and white sneakers mix with the black, newly done pavement. Leaning his bike against a lamppost, Bart takes feet that won't really work up to the box.
The ID said 233B on Chandlie Avenue. The address on the side of the house read 233, and the green sign read Chandlie Ave. A deep breath, another, and Bart was already working his way up the pathway.
And then, the door opened.
And the face that appeared was worried, shaking his head, and familiar by the burning of his eyes into Bart's mind the night before.
Jaime Reyes.
"Jaime Reyes?" Bart asked, uncertain and fishing this man's wallet out of his pocket.
"Yes?" Jaime Reyes worked his way down the stairs, coming up to the younger boy.
"You dropped your wallet at the grocery store and I picked it up because you weren't nearby and I was going to put it in your mailbox." Bart's words came out fast, slurred, and much like the way they did when he was he was nervous. "Your gum is also old." He doesn't know where the last part comes from, but, when it falls, both Jaime and Bart couldn't keep the grins off their faces.