The Suit Makes the Speedster

"You know, much as I enjoy you spending all your time here, using my tools, and eating my food, I'd have hoped you'd have some results by now."

Barry Allen, the Fastest Man Alive (no matter what Clark said), looked away from his suit, and towards the billionaire in the corner. "Don't you have somewhere better to be? Bones to break? Cats to return to old grandmas?"

"Once the sun goes down, yeah. In the meantime..." Bruce gestured at what Barry was working on. "Fastest man alive, can't even get his suit right."

"Hey, it's a work of art. You can't rush art." Barry returned his gaze to the suit. "Besides, how many times did it take you to get the batsuit right?"

"None."

"None?"

"It's always a work in progress," Bruce said. He got to his feet and walked over. "When I first hit the streets, I had no body armour to speak of. But now?" He gave a wry smile. "Well, you've seen for yourself."

Barry had. Once. Years ago. And what they'd been fighting then weren't your run of the mill thugs. But that was then, this was now. In the here and now, Bruce Wayne was still going out every night to keep the streets of Gotham safe, even if age was getting on, and a lot of his vigilante duties seemed to be covered by the so-called Birds of Prey. His own hopes of operating out of Wayne Manor as some kind of Justice League had become as hollow as the manor itself, with Diana, Clark, and Arthur preferring to do their own things in their own way, whether it be writing puff pieces for the Daily Planet, or ruling an undersea empire. And Victor? Heck, Victor seemed happy to be out of the spotlight. Happy to help his dad in his research.

Which leaves me, Barry thought, as he kept working on his gear. Whoopy doo. He looked at Bruce. "Can you pass me the blow torch?"

Bruce handed it to him.

"No, the other one. The mini-flamethrower one."

Bruce gave him a look, but relented.

"Thanks. Oh, and can your butler make me another sandwich?"

"Oh, sure. That'll be the sixth one in the past hour, right?"

Barry shrugged. "What can I say? Creative juices and digestive juices are closely related."

"Right. Of course." Bruce picked up a radio from his belt. "Alfred, it's Bruce. I…yes. Again. What can I say, the kid's got a passion project. He...well, he's not Jason." He lowered the radio. "Sandwich will be down in ten."

Barry nodded. Alfred was even more standoffish than Bruce, but damn if he didn't know how to make a good sandwich. Sausage, egg, and lettuce. Far better than the constant supply of pizzas he'd had in his old haunt. Heck, the pizzas he still had now when working cases for the CCPD's forensics unit. They kept his energy up, but what it did to his state of health? Well...

Then again, most people being struck by lightning tend to come out weaker rather than stronger. He put some goggles on and began using the blow torch. Now work your magic, firefly.

One month ago, Barry Allen had come face to face with a doppelganger. Another Flash from another dimension. The guy hadn't been a one-to-one copy, and of all the distinctions between them was his suit. The suit that the guy had worn had been bright red. Sleek. Shiny. Heck, stylish even. The suit that he'd cobbled together, the one he was working on right now, or trying to? It looked like various pieces of metal welded together, painted in a dark red. Which they were, kinda. But he wanted a suit that looked as awesome as that other guy's, but with all the added protection. And so far, after a week of trying, all he'd done was give his suit lots of burn marks, and worse, probably compromised its integrity. Stepping back and removing the goggles, he frowned. Same suit, just with burn marks. A lot of burn marks.

"Your sandwich, Mister Allen."

He made a motion with his hand, not giving Alfred a second look. Damn it, how the heck had it come to this? He'd taken a week's leave to work on his Flash suit, and had accomplished nothing. He went to take a bite of his sandwich, but his hand found nothing.

The hell? He turned around, finding that Bruce had walked over, and was eating the sandwich itself.

"Hey, that was for me."

"Mine now." Bruce swallowed his food before continuing to talk. "Not bad actually. Good mix of protein. Might have too much fat though."

Barry tried to grab it. But despite his speed, somehow Bruce grabbed his arm and pushed him into a chair. He watched as the billionaire took another bite, clearly enjoying the taste as much as the power dynamic.

"You know if I really wanted to I could kick your arse, right?" Barry said.

Bruce shrugged. "Probably. Still, you want to take that chance?"

Barry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Truth of the matter was, standing here, in front of the man who'd almost managed to kill Clark...yeah, he wasn't keen on taking such a risk right now.

"Anyway," Bruce said. He pulled up another chair and sat opposite Barry. "Under normal circumstances-"

Barry snorted - what the heck counts as normal?

"...I'd give some kind of pep talk about the suit not making the man or some other bullshit." He took another bite of the sandwich. "Still, I've given that talk twice, and I'm not going to give it again. And I'm also going to cut to it and say that it's obvious that you're not here to work on suits."

Barry frowned. "What the heck do you think I've been doing this past week?"

"Wasting your time. Which is fine, except you being here has meant I've had to waste my time as well. So, you either tell me what you're really here for, or else you can start running back to Central City."

He put the sandwich back in his mouth. Barry could tell that he had until he stopped chewing to give an answer. An answer that eluded him, at least for the first few seconds. Turned out that being zapped by lightning had only improved his physical speed, not his psychological one. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Bruce was chewing, the sun was setting, and it was only a matter of time before Bruce got some actual bats for his Batcave, and that would freak him the hell out, and-

"I need help," he blurted out.

Bruce stopped chewing, and just sat there. Silently.

"Like...I dunno, alright? Like...like I..."

"You keep using that word."

"What? Like?"

"Yes, like. I don't like likes. So think carefully before you use it again."

Barry, noticing how narrow Bruce's eyes were, took his time to speak. "It's li…I mean, ever since we beat Steppenwolf, I've been thinking...things should be better, y'know?"

Bruce remained silent.

" I'm Central City's resident superhero. Heck, they're even naming coffee after me at Jitters. Plus, I've got a steady job with the CCPD's forensics team, so I get to track down criminals, then bring them in as the Flash."

Bruce remained silent.

"But my dad's still in prison," he said. "And I still can't prove he didn't murder my mother, and half the force is talking behind my back, and there's this girl I really like, and I want to tell her I like her, only-"

Bruce held up a hand. Barry stopped talking.

"Let me give you a piece of advice," Bruce said. "This girl, you're into?"

"Iris."

"I didn't ask for her name. And you're not going to mention her name again, okay?"

"Um..."

"Don't," Bruce said, leaning forward. "It won't work. It can't work. You want to protect your identity, you want to protect those around you? Don't go there. Trust me."

Barry frowned. "What, so I end up like you?"

Bruce got to his feet and walked away.

"Clark and Lois are doing fine. And Arthur's king of Bloody Atlantis with Mera. And-"

"One of those people is an invincible alien, the other is a man who can talk to fish." Bruce looked at Barry. "Believe it or not, you're still human. You can bleed. And those around you can bleed."

"I-"

"But let's move on," Bruce said. "I know you didn't come to talk to me about girls."

"I dunno, haven't you been elected Gotham's most eligible bachelor for the past three years running?"

"Four." Barry watched as Bruce ran his hand along the Batmobile, as if it were some kind of pet. He chuckled. "You think I want to lose that title by getting entangled?"

Truth of the matter was, Barry suspected that part of Bruce did wish that. But he didn't say anything. He just watched Bruce. Waited for him to speak.

"Your dad," he said. "I've read the case file. Two lights, red and yellow. Somehow you end up a mile away, and by the time you get back, you find your dad over your mother's body."

Barry glared at him. "How the heck do you know that?"

Bruce chuckled. "You think I don't know a thing or two about the people I work with?" He looked at Barry. "So. The police think you're traumatized, Henry Allen goes to jail, you spend the rest of your life trying to prove he's innocent. Of course, anyone you talk to thinks you're crazy. And while you could run into Iron Heights and get your dad out quick as a, well, flash, you haven't." He folded his arms. "Why?"

Barry stood up. "I got him out, you think he'd be free?"

"I dunno, wouldn't he?"

Barry frowned. "Are you free? You've got your code. Far as I can tell, you've operated by it, even if it makes your job tougher. Only time you broke it was after Supes turned up."

Bruce didn't say anything.

"So, yeah, I think about my dad," he said. "And like...like I dunno, that other Flash I saw? Only saw him for a few minutes, but there was something about him. A warmth, y'know? A happiness? Like, I dunno if there's a million other Flashes out there, or just one, but…but like..."

"So in other words, you think that by making your suit more likes his, you'll be more like the other Flash?" Bruce asked.

"Well...yeah. I guess." Barry watched as Bruce walked over to the suit. "Does that sound crazy?"

"Kid, I'm a guy who dresses up as a flying rodent every night. I'm not the person to ask about crazy."

Barry didn't say anything. Though it did occur to him that in the context, he, as a CCPD officer, was aiding and abetting a vigilante who, more than once, had been subjected to a manhunt by the GCPD. If he brought Bruce in, well...the officers back at Central City might stop sniggering behind his back.

"So you're crazy," Barry said. "And I'm crazy. Like, we're talking about doppelgangers, after already having encountered aliens, and fish people, and cyborgs, and Amazons, and…whatever the heck those flying bugs were."

"Parademons."

"And in the meantime, my dad's still locked up, my suit looks like crap, and...and I..."

He fell silent. And the moment after that, he began to run.

There wasn't much room in the Batcave. But there was room enough. To move faster than any normal human being. To tap into the Speed Force. To clear his head. To give him the sense of moving forward, even if he was still in the same place. To come to a sharp stop right in front of Bruce Wayne, and feel slightly better for the experience.

"You done?" Bruce asked.

Barry didn't say anything. He just collapsed into the chair, wishing that he'd had that sandwich instead of Bruce. But, since that wish had no chance of being granted (not without time travel at least, and that was pure science fiction), he looked up at Bruce and asked, "you ever get over it? Your parents?"

Bruce said nothing. He just looked away.

"I mean, I don't know what's worse. Losing your dad to a mugger, or seeing him locked up for a crime he didn't commit. I mean, I-"

"Barry?"

Barry looked up at him.

"Suck it up."

"Excuse me?"

"Diana can't go back home. Clark lost his biological parents, and his foster father. Arthur grew up without his mother, as did Victor. And millions of children around the world would give their right limb to have it as good as you do. Your mother's dead, and your father's locked up. That doesn't make you special."

Barry tried to speak, but failed. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell Bruce that he didn't understand. That he couldn't understand. But instead, he remained silent. Not sure if the anger he was feeling was directed at Bruce Wayne...or at himself.

So he just sat there. His head low, his eyes heavy. And his spirits slightly buoyed when Bruce gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

"Go home, Barry. Take your suit with you. Because we both know that you don't need it - you could run around naked, and you'd still be the fastest man alive."

Barry snorted. "How the heck do you know?"

"Because I've measured your stop speed and Clark's. You're faster."

Barry, his mind acting faster than his body, compelled said body to get up, and hug Bruce. Though fortunately, that same mind got him to let go.

"Um...that was..."

"Alfred will see you out."

"Oh. Right. Sure."

Bruce said nothing. He headed for the back of the Batcave. The sun was setting, and that meant one thing for the streets of Gotham.

"Two other things," Bruce said, as he walked. "I've looked up your father's file. I'll forward you my findings by the end of the week. Maybe it'll give you some leads."

"What's the other?"

"Don't ever hug me again."

"Right. Sure. Of course." Barry gave him a thumbs up. "Sure thing boss."

"Not your boss." Bruce stopped walking and looked back at Barry. "You're your own man. So be him."

Barry didn't say anything.

In that moment, he didn't have to.