Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Barry?"

"Hal!" Barry grinned, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "Listen-" He snatched up his reports and stuffed them into his messenger bag, along with several other folders he planned to work on this weekend, and his laptop.

"We're still on for movie night, okay? I'm running a bit late, though- I gotta check in with the boss and get some papers sorted out, but then I'm on the way. Your place tonight, right?" he finished, actively restraining himself from speed-talking- although Hal could usually translate well enough when doesn't.

He heard a short, tense silence from the other side of the line, then Hal's hesistant, "Uh, yeah. My place, Bar." He sounded halted, like he was having trouble stringing his words together.

Barry paused, frowning, "You okay, Hal? You sound like you gotta concussion."

"Um," Hal mumbled, trailing off for a long moment. Barry felt his anxiety rise, just a little, when Hal didn't even try to quip back. Hal sighed softly, "Yeah. Think I'm okay."

". . . Okay," Barry conceded, entirely unconvinced; he'd be over in less than hour anyway. If there was something wrong, he'd find out when he got there.

He forced himself to take a deep breath as they said their goodbyes and hung up- because with Hal, it could anything or nothing.

They've seen each other through so much- Parllax, getting sucked into the speedforce, and multiple close-call alien invasions, just to name a few. Hal's always had a knack for sounding a least a little chipper through it all. (Unless he was talking to Batman.)

He'd never sounded. . . despondent, voice flat and uninflected. Never- Barry thought with something like mirth- like Batman. And not getting much from him in conversation was more indictative of something potentially very bad.

So Barry rushes through his debrief with the CCPD forensics director, rushes through sorting his papers (he may have used his super speed a teensy bit), and rushes out the door, speeding to Hal's place when he's absolutely sure no one is watching.

(If Bruce knew how casually Barry uses his powers in public- and for everyday use. . . Barry gets a mirgraine just thinking about the ensuing lecture.)

He's at Hal's door in three seconds flat- slower than he would've liked, especially when he knocks on Hal's apartment door and receives little more than a series of thumps from a different apartment for his trouble.

He knocks again, this time calling Hal's name.

Still nothing.

He feels his heart speed up in anxiety again- Hal's flown off to do something stupidly dangerous, he's been attacked in his apartment. Barry's hands clench nervously: maybe he's seriously injured.

It's happened before, and Barry would be hard-pressed to believe it wouldn't happen again, and at the one time he can't be there to have Hal's back.

After another useless round of loud knocking, Barry glances around- no one in the hallways, no cameras mounted on the walls- and carefully vibrates until he's phased quietly through Hal's door.

It's dark, which isn't exactly surprising.

But it's quiet, too- Hal has ADHD, and therefore regularly info-dumps on Barry.

Even when Hal's alone, he talks to himself. Barry knows because Hal'd left his comlink on one time, and-

Well, that's a different story entirely.

The point is, it's never quiet if Hal is around- not completely, like it is right now.

Barry feels his stomach clench again as he searches the small apartment. The furniture is sitting all its proper place- at least, the furniture Hal's unpacked in the six months he's been here.

There doesn't seem to be any signs of a struggle or recent fight. (He and Hal had gotten into a bit of a friendly scuffle in the kitchen last week, but they'd put everything back.)

He's just moved on from the kitchen, and is heading towards the bedroom, when a light from the living room catches his eye.

Barry strides forward, relieved.

It's the TV- thank god, Hal's-

-on the couch, watching(?) some low-budget late night program. He seems to be okay, wrapped in a blanket burrito and so swaddled only his head is visible, but-

He's staring ahead blankly, clearly awake but definitely not aware that Barry had essentially broken into his apartment.

"Hal?" Barry says, quiet and careful.

He doesn't even twitch, and Barry feels something in his chest drop in recognition: is. . . is he dissociating?

He certainly seems to be, now that Barry's come closer: he's shaking, just a little, blinking ocassionally but with glazed eyes.

Barry kneels beside the couch, sitting back on his heels and observing his friend in concern.

Carefully, gently, Barry shakes Hal's shoulder. The only response he gets is a more noticeable shiver.

So he shakes him again, calls his name as loudly as he dares. This time he gets a sniffle as Hal's eyes redden, tears starting to glisten there.

"Hal, hey," Barry soothes, rubbing circles into Hal's back. "It's okay, it's just Barry."

Hal shivers, swallowly thickly and squeezing his eyes shut with what looks to be a great deal of effort.

"Hey, you're okay. You're gonna be okay, alright?"

Hugs, he thinks, almost desperately. Hugs have always helped Hal when he's like this.

Slowly, Barry helps Hal sit up till he can slide onto the couch under him and cradle his friend's burritoed body atop his. One handing snakes under Hal's shoulders while the other continues rubbing up and down the Lantern's back.

He feels Hal tremble minutely against him, feels soft hiccups smothered against his chest, hopes that holding Hal will help him come down.

Barry wishes- longs- to help more, but Hal hadn't even been exactly responsive to him, had barely blinked when Barry'd tried to draw him out.

He may not look it- but Hal is incredibly prone to depression and anxiety; Barry has known this man for ten years now, been his best friend for at least seven. He is ready, willing, and knowledgeable when Hal needs him- needs this.

Barry's never seen Hal disocciate, per say- but he has helped him through a great deal of panic and anxiety attacks.

Dissociation, Barry remembers from his psychology class in university, is something of a byproduct of either anxiety or panic- sometimes both. It's sort of its own thing, but also in the same branch as panic and anxiety attacks.

So Barry figures (hopes) that if he can ground Hal through attacks, he can ground him through this.

Barry himself is not immune to the same awful, hell-hole of experiences, not by any stretch of the imagination- but he takes meds, goes to therapy, has Iris, Wally, Hal, to talk to.

Hal doesn't have any of that. The closest he's come to accepting a confidante (besides Barry) was Carol. And she-

Well, Barry got the hint to avoid talking about her around year three.

Hal still blames himself for her becoming Star Sapphire, for the destruction from Parallax, the decimation of Oa- hell- what doesn't he blame himself for?

So Barry is grateful for Hal's trust in him, grateful that out of everyone in the League, Hal still clicked with him the best.

He's grateful for (some of) the Leaguer's understanding, too.

Barry doesn't really like to think back on Hal's ocassional post-battle panic attacks, but as Hal slowly relaxes in his hold, he can't help it.

He recalls the first time:

The way Batman had glared an indignant Arthur into silence when Hal had shakily excused himself from a debriefing and rushed out of the room.

Bruce had nodded knowingly at Barry, who was absolutely twitching to follow Hal out. Barry smiles at this, smiles at Bruce's compassion and understanding. Bruce and Hal may not get along very well, but Bats does care about his teammates in his own roundabout way.

But Barry doesn't- can't- smile when he thinks about the way Hal had shaken and keened desperately against him in the (then) tiny mess hall, gripping Barry back as he struggled to breathe.

The walls then had been too cold, the air much too quiet. Barry had felt useless and worried out of his mind, even as his words and encouragements grounded Hal within minutes.

He feels useless, now- again- as Hal shakes against him, breathing- sort of- okay.

His breathing is laboured, though, closer to small, quiet sobs of an exhale than his usual tiny, stuttered sips of air.

Barry just keeps rubbing his back, holding him, letting him come back however and whenever he can manage it.

After a terrible, terrifying eternity, Hal's hands move from their limp splay to shakily grip at the sides of Barry's soft STAR Labs hoodie. He breathes in a little deeper, even managing a steady exhale, and Barry deflates a little in relief.

"It's okay," he murmurs, moving one hand up to begin carding through Hal's hair.

He rasps out some semblance of Barry's name, whimpering at the tail end of it.

"Breathe, Hal," Barry mumbles in response, holding him closer. "Breathe."

Hal does, after some moments- wrangles his breath into deeper, more relaxed ones. He presses his ear to Barry's chest and Barry lets him, knows how soothing and regulating hearbeats can be for Hal.

Heartbeats personally freak Barry out on a whole new level (thank god he doesn't have Superman's hearing), but for Hal it serves as a reminder that his best friend is okay, that they're still alive, they're not in danger.

Other than Barry having a conniption if his blood pressure rises any higher in his worry for Hal- higher than his super speed already makes it, at least.

But Hal's relaxed against Barry now, and- other than the residual shaking- seems to be grounded, mostly.

Barry takes the opportunity to look down at Hal, "Pretty bad, huh?"

Hal doesn't meet his gaze. Whether because he's ashamed, not entirely grounded, or is too tired to move, Barry isn't sure. But he doesn't need to know.

Still, Hal gives him a stiff nod, and the fact that Hal is actually responding to him is a relief in and of itself.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" Barry asks, trying to sound casual. He knows from experience that pushing Hal will get them nowhere.

It must've been worse than Barry had thought, though, because even that small, open question immediately gets a quiet, hiccupping sob out of Hal and a returned grip on Barry as he hides his face in the speedster's chest.

Barry more feels the sob than he does hear it, and he's about to gather Hal closer to him, apologies and reassurances spilling out, when suddenly Hal growls lowly and takes in another deep breath, mutters out- hesitant but determined- "P-Parallax."

A stab of pain hits Barry's heart when he hears the name, but he can't help but smile a little at Hal's effort to keep his breathing under control.

Nearly two years later, and Hal still finds himself plagued just as relentlessly by the nightmares, devastation, and guilt from his days as Parallax. The League has forgiven him, Barry has forgiven him- hell, even the Coast City mayor had declared an official pardon against the actions of "the Green Lanterns" over a year ago. Hal just hasn't forgiven himself.

"I'm proud of you for finding somewhere safe until I could get here," Barry says genuinely, as a distraction. To his relief, he feels Hal calm a little at the words, and nestle himself back against Barry, though he's still crying some.

It's one of the most difficult things, Barry knows- to forgive yourself for something you ultimately had no control over. Logically: it makes no sense- it wasn't your fault, so you shouldn't (can't) blame yourself for it.

But the involvement, the chain of events leading up to it, the impact on those you care about afterwards- it pushes and pulls and makes you wonder what you could've done differently- and why you hadn't. Barry thinks Bruce feels that way, sometimes. J'onn, too.

He knows all of this- knows Hal couldn't really have stopped everything that had happened- but he also knows it's possible to forgive yourself, to see that it really wasn't in your control at all.

So, rather than making Hal suffer through some nugatory speech about how much it wasn't his fault, that Parallax had manipulated and controlled him, slowly taken over and worn away at his mind-

Barry leans down, kisses Hal's head, and asks what he wants to watch. And Hal lets Barry hold him as he slowly drifts off, distracted, at least for a little while.

Chapter Text

He's been overstimulated (as Barry had called it) for days; it's been looming over him, demanding, loud. Controlling.

But he hadn't had time to deal with it.

So, naturally, he finds himself having one of the worst- what had Barry called it. . . sensory overloads? of his life, back pressed up against the crumbling wall of a former office-building.

He'd been handling it, really he had- well, as well as one could while fighting a dude three times his size and packing a harder punch than Superman himself.

He'd even gone in with a plan- a plan! That thing Barry and Bats are always nagging him to have before jumping into a fight.

And Hal shouldn't be angry with himself for having such an immature reaction to something normally so simple, he shouldn't, because-

-because even Batman was down for the count. Cyborg was tending to his wounds as best he could on the battlefield; Bruce had been unconscious for the last half hour with a bad concussion and a leg broken in three different places-

(Hal would never admit that Bruce was the true bar, for him.)

And the monster- creature- whatever the hell it'd been- was neutralised, finally-

-and Hal was. . . somewhere-

-nobody should (would) have to see his stupid, childish meltdown here-

-gasping for breath because the wind was too loud, the asphalt too dusty, his uniform too tight, the cereal this morning too grainy-

He'd almost got his head tucked between his knees (the only correct thing he could remember Barry advising him to do when he gets like this), pressed instead against the top of his knees, and-

-he can't stop rocking.

He could feel himself rocking, back and forth, just a little bit, arms wrapped tight and frozen in place round his legs.

Distantly, he can hear Barry calling him over the comlink, but he can't move, and it's-

-too loud, too loud, too loud-

He's- he can't-

Nothing makes sense-

"Cyborg!" Barry calls, urgent and commanding. He sounds muffled now. "Where's GL?"

"Thirty yards to the right of the third crater."

Hal hears a mumbled thank you, and suddenly static is buzzing around him, and it's-

-comforting?-

-soft-

He inhales shakily and grits out a dry sob on the exhale, muffled pointedly against his knees.

"GL!"

It's Barry- his hands are on Hal's arms, trying to soothe, and-

-no-

It's- it's too much-

He flinches away from Barry's touch, can't even feel guilty about it, because it's like he'd been pressing a colony of ants into his bare skin, and he can't-

-sorry sorry sorry-

-I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm sorry-

He thinks he hears Barry's voice again, feels fingertips brush his shoulder, but this time it doesn't matter, because he can't even feel it.

It feels like he's floating, but in the way he finds himself doing when he's out in the middle of space and forgot to charge his ring. Like he'll be stuck, is stuck, and there's no way out-

He's in a bubble, there's no air in the bubble-

-oh, god, he- he can't-!

"Hal. Breathe, buddy. C'mon."

Barry, his mind supplies detatchedly-

He can't even feel the wall pressed up against his back anymore.

Well. The wall had been crumbling. Maybe it'd fallen out. But then he'd have felt the impact of it. . . right?

"No, bud, we're back at my place," Barry tells him, soft and blessedly quiet.

Actually, everything was quiet now.

There was carpet beneath him, not asphalt, and he was pressed up against a regular, sturdy, smooth wallpaper wall. He was in his civies, too, somehow.

Right. Wasn't concentrating.

Hal feels his grip on his legs loosen a bit, feels his breaths come in a little less shaky.

He presses his forehead against his knees and breathes in, deliberate, slow, and steady, at last.

"You back with me there, Hal?" Barry asks when he's been breathing on his own for some time. His voice isn't muffled anymore.

Hal feels his face burn as he shudders and takes another deep breath. He nods.

"Good," Barry lauds, and Hal can hear his friend's smile.

Hal hears the crack of lid being opened, then something placed on the carpet to his right. "You want some water?"

Hal swallows down the bile and embarrassment sitting heavy in his throat, and shifts so he can meet Barry's safe gaze.

"Hey," Barry smiles, small and so soft.

Hal thinks he might melt. Or pass out. Whichever one is easier right now.

He can't smile back. He wants to.

He reaches for the water bottle with a shaky hand instead.

Barry disappears while Hal carefully drains the bottle, returns moments later with several fluffy blankets.

Hal drops the empty bottle on the floor, feels the blush creep back up on his cheeks, reaching his ears this time.

"Bar, I don' need. . . " he tries protests, hoarse and just- exhausted.

Because he is- exhausted- but he doesn't want to take up Barry's space, to take up his time. He really isn't worth that much-

"Yes, you do," Barry says firmly, yanking Hal out of that dark corner of his mind. His gaze flits back up to Barry, whose eyes are soft, smile turning down a little, now- sad. "And yes, you are. Worth my time, Hal."

Hal swallows hard, averting his gaze. He. . . hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"You're worth every bit of my energy, okay?" Barry says, and Hal can't bring himself to be okay with the sheer sincerity in his best friend's gaze. "I mean it."

But he forces himself to nod- because he wants to believe Barry, he does- and reluctantly accepts a blanket as Barry pulls him up slowly.

He feels weaker than a kitten as his legs shake, feeling like jello. His head's spinning, too. It almost feels like he has a fever until the black spots skirting his vision dissipate, and he's left with his arm thrown across Barry's shoulders, leaning most of weight on him.

"Blanket burrito and chill?" Barry offers as they begin to shuffle out of Barry's room. Hal huffs out a laugh as he cradles his ribs, very likely broken from the fight. "You look like you've been sorely lacking a chill day."

"Ribs nee'. . . fixin'," Hal grunts quietly, and Barry looks down to where his hand is, frowning in concern.

"Sorry, maybe I should've tried to fix that before I pulled you up."

"'S fine, Bar," Hal reassures him. Then he grins a little, looking back "Ribs, 'en burrito'n' chill."

Barry chuckles, inspecting Hal as they shuffle over to the front room, "I'm gonna check for a concussion, too. You should not be slurring this much, bud."

Hal huffs again, lets Barry gently deposit him on the couch and check his pupils (he did have a bit of a concussion), and expertly wrap his ribs.

Hal winces as he pulls his shirt back on, laughing a little when Barry looks for several seconds and still cannot find the remote.

"Here," Hal smiles, pulling it out from the depths of the cushions. Barry blushes, snatching it from him with no ire; Barry may be one of the most put-together people Hal knows, but he still misplaces and forget things.

Hal doesn't mind it. Barry never misplaces him, never forgets him.

I don't deserve Barry, he thinks.

Then: I want to do better, somewhere in the very back of his mind. 

"Lie down, I'll get you more water, okay?" Barry orders, flipping through Netflix until he finds the last episode they'd been on.

"Yessir," Hal says as he gets comfortable, saluting Barry with exclusively his middle finger.

Barry rolls his eyes and laughs, speeding away and back with a few water bottles. Hal accepts one, lets Barry fuss about getting a blanket around him.

Somehow, he ends up in the same position he'd found himself in the first time he'd really dissociated- relaxed between Barry's legs, head resting on his chest. He rests his cheek against Barry's soft sweater, and drifts.

He doesn't see Barry glance down at him as he dozes, a fond smile on his face.