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Before the apocalypse, Barry had two siblings. Taako is exactly zero percent like either of them, but if asked Barry would still say he loved him like a brother. He and Lup had somehow never gotten around to marriage, always focused on something else, but. When you’ve been together longer than most couples in any given retirement home, Barry thinks you can count it.
Ironically, Barry doesn’t think he actually, truly understands Taako until after Lup disappears. He’s not even sure it was something Taako did; it’s just that Barry, for all that they’ve lived and worked together for a century, has never really known Taako as a separate entity from Lup. To be fair, he doesn’t think Taako does either.
That isn’t to say they’re exactly alike - far from it, in fact. But they had started out as a matched set, and then when Barry and Lup grew closer, Taako had been Lup’s brother first and foremost. On those awful cycles when Lup did die, both of them were too busy trying not to suffocate on the sour, Lupless air to spend much time together.
Barry has seen Taako die four times. Two of those times were indirectly Barry’s fault, although neither twin seemed to blame him for it, even when he wished they would. One of those times had ended in him holding Taako as he bled out in a dungeon for five hours, powerless to heal him and so horrified by Taako’s single suggestion that he “speed things up a little” that Taako lasted two more miserable hours.
Despite this, Barry has never seen Taako look more scared than on the fourth day after Lup hadn’t returned.
“Three days is soon,” he explains, his already high voice creeping higher. “But four? What if.” He stops abruptly, though his breathing hasn’t calmed. And Barry looks at this elf, looks at the person he has lived with for ten long decades, and understands.
Barry and Taako have almost always gotten along. Certainly they’ve never fought beyond Taako’s jaunty ribbing, both for the most part content to tie for Most Important Person In Lup’s Life. Now, though, it’s like they’ve been existing this closely for years. They stay up together for days at a time, Taako restless and pacing while Barry stays glued to one spot for so long that time ceases to exist.
Once, just once, they both fall asleep on the floor, papers spread around them in haphazard piles. Barry wakes up in the early morning with his glasses off his face and a book of topographical maps shoved uncomfortably under his ribs. He blinks awake, and for what must be only a fraction of a second, he catches sight of the blurry outline of Taako’s face and thinks that -
Taako startles awake at Barry’s choked gasp; unlike his sister, he’s an incredibly light sleeper.
“Sorry,” Barry manages, fighting to get in air, and Taako just nods his head and moves a little closer, into focus. He understands.