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When you told Wally you talked in your sleep, he had imagined some cute gibberish and a little sleepwalking. But now, over a year into dating and living together, you were taking a year off his life every night.
You’d hit him, threatened him, shoved him out of bed. You thought the bruises on your boyfriend’s ribs were from his superhero life, not from your elbows in the middle of the night.
At first, Wally would tell you in the morning what you’d said in your sleep, how you’d put a hand over his mouth, pointed to the door, and whispered:
“The British are coming,” in the most terrifying voice he had ever heard.
“The best part is you said it with the most flawless British accent I’ve ever heard,” he told you the next morning, while you buried your face in your hands.
You were embarrassed, of course. Especially because it was constant, even if he stopped telling you about it, you knew you were still bothering him in your sleep with your shouts and outbursts.
Wally had started jotting your quotes in a little notebook he kept well hidden in his nightstand drawer, so he wouldn’t forget them and could throw them back at you now and then. He approached it with a mix of fascination and fear. Every time he got into bed with you, he felt like he was entering a kind of dreamland Russian roulette. Some nights were sweet, and you’d just giggle softly and murmur his name; other nights, you’d scream in his ear that someone was watching you both.
One night, past four in the morning, you asked him if he thought Batman slept with socks on.
But the best, or worst, depending on how you looked at it, was when you kissed him in your sleep. He was wide awake, playing on his phone, when you climbed on top of him like a half-zombie, cupped his face and whispered:
“I’m going to steal a kiss from you. And then your powers.”
You said it so seriously Wally almost believed you.
“Oh yeah?” he teased, knowing full well you weren’t hearing a word.
You leaned in and kissed him, not on the lips, but just under the eye. Wally didn’t mind.
Then you collapsed onto his chest with a dramatic sigh and muttered something about a cosmic trial starting at dawn. And immediately began to snore.
He stayed there, frozen, one hand resting on your back, staring at the ceiling.
“What trial, babe? Am I invited?” he whispered, like he didn’t want to wake the galactic priestess you seemed to become in your sleep.
In the morning, you remembered nothing. As always. But that time, Wally didn’t tell you anything. He just watched you eat breakfast in your pajamas, your hair a mess and a piece of toast hanging from the corner of your mouth.
“You know, the sleep-talking thing is getting serious. Last night you tried to steal my powers.”
You stared at him, blinking, as he grinned triumphantly, mug in hand.
“Don’t make stuff up,” you said, mouth full, your dignity completely ruined by the smear of jam on your cheek.
Wally came over, wiped your cheek with his thumb, and kissed your forehead.
And even if you acted like you didn’t care, a bit later, while he was doing the dishes, you came up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. You pressed your forehead between his shoulder blades and murmured, very softly:
“If I ever manage to actually steal your powers…” you began, lips pursed. Wally barely turned his head to look at you. “I’ll replace you as the Flash. And I’ll wear a pink suit. With glitter.”
Wally burst out laughing. “Are you dreaming again?”
You clicked your tongue and gave his arm a soft slap. He dried his hands with the kitchen towel and turned around to look you straight in the eyes.
“I’m absolutely in love with you,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours until your noses touched. “But please don’t mess with my suit while you’re asleep.”
“You’d look amazing in pink, it matches your hair.”
You hugged his waist a bit tighter and rested your whole face against his chest. Wally laughed again, this time softer. He hugged you back, his arms over yours, gently swaying from side to side.
Over the years, he collected your best dream-ideas: a plan to invade Metropolis, your acceptance speech for the keys to Star City after overthrowing Oliver Queen as mayor, a very detailed pitch to convince Dick that when he got married, he should enter the church with a backflip, and even a proposal to hide plastic ducks in the Watchtower.
But one night was different.
You woke up crying. Without saying a word. You just sat up in bed, hugging your knees, cheeks wet, eyes blank. Wally reacted in half a second. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder, and said nothing. He was just there. Like always.
“There was fire,” you murmured, like you were still seeing it. “And you were there. But- but you weren’t moving.”
Wally hugged you tighter.
“I’m okay. I’m here. Nothing happened,” he whispered. He stroked your arm gently, convincing not just you, but also your subconscious. “And if there ever is fire, I’ll get us out. You know that.”
“You were burning,” you added, eyes closed. You turned to him, searching for his face with your hands, as if you had to make sure he was still really there. “You couldn’t run.”
Wally swallowed hard. He took your hands and pressed them to his chest.
“That’s not going to happen. But if it ever did…” he smiled softly, “you’d come save me, right? In your pink glitter suit.”
You laughed through your tears, and it was one of the sweetest things he’d ever heard in his life.
“Duh. And with the coolest heels.”
“That would be spectacular,” he said, kissing your forehead. Then he lay down with you and tucked you in, like he could protect you from your own dreams too.