Chapter Text
Barry knows why these meetings get called. The Justice League is more than just a social club, and Batman wants to ensure that everyone’s on the same page, nothing serious is getting overlooked and all of the necessary incident reports have been filed.
But damn, are they bored. The start of the meeting was pretty much just people going “same as ever, my Rogues did X and Y and were stopped but nothing important really happened in the last month”, and it’s now devolved into Batman giving a lecture on strategies for dealing with fear toxin.
Barry really doesn’t care about fear toxin, considering even a concentrated dose of fear toxin doesn’t do much more to a speedster than make their vision waver for a few seconds, and even if Scarecrow made something that could affect them, they’d just drop into speedtime and have a panic attack for a few weeks straight and then spend another few days getting themself into a state where they can pretend they’re completely fine and remember what they were doing beforehand.
Bruce’s voice is starting to stretch out to the point where he’s completely incomprehensible, despite Barry’s best attempts to slow down and pay attention.
It occurs to Barry- would anyone actually notice if they stopped slowing themself down, got up and left and spent a few weeks in speedtime actually doing something productive?
They look around the room. There is no sound, not when sound is currently travelling slower than they are. Clark is intently focused on Bruce’s words, hands folded on the table. Diana is blinking, hands sitting neatly in her lap. Bruce is mid-word, one hand gesturing in front of him. Arthur is staring out the window. Hal has his phone out on the table, the pixels halfway through loading the next frame of what looks like a Google search.
Barry very gently stands up, pushes their chair back and pushes it back in. No one so much as glances in their direction. Bruce is still on the same syllable. Diana is still in the middle of blinking. Hal’s phone is still refreshing the same frame, and not a single pixel has moved.
Part of them is screaming that they’re being unfathomably rude by doing this, that they don’t know if what Batman’s saying is actually important, that they can’t just abandon people and leave the rest of the world behind, that they don’t know what the consequences of speeding up this fast while interacting with their environment will be.
Part of them is quietly assessing the possibilities. They could do anything and go anywhere right now, and nobody except them will notice or care or stop them or remind them that they’re in the middle of a meeting.
This is their natural speed, and it feels right, even if their logical mind is screaming that it’s wrong.
Barry turns their back on the League and walks away from the table, out of the conference room, out of the administrative areas of the Hall of Justice.
It only takes three minutes to reach the parts of the Hall civilians are meant to see, and they don’t stop to admire the decor. They’ve already done that a thousand times, unconsciously memorized the exact placement of the golden trim on the walls and the way the chisel marks on the marble statues reflect the light through the glass walls seperating them from the public and how Hal’s statue doesn’t quite capture the subtle intricacies of his face and smile and the details of the intricate engravings on the floor tiles.
They just walk, until they find the door leading to the publically accessible areas of the Hall and gently push it open. There’s always a small crowd inside and around the Hall of Justice, people from all over the world come to marvel at the architecture and the artifacts and exhibits on public display, to-
Oh wow, that guy is littering. Completely shamelessly, too. He’s just tossing an empty Subway sandwich wrapper towards the floor, nowhere near a garbage can.
Barry promptly turns around and walks back through the Hall until they find the storage room they need. They root through the shelves for a pack of Flash-themed sticky notes, then for a red pen, then close the door and walk back to where Mr. Litterbug is still standing there, completely unaware of the fact that his garbage still hasn’t hit the floor.
Carefully, they write “Please don’t litter, it’s rude -Flash” on a sticky note, peel it off the pad, walk over to Mr. Litterbug and stick it on his surprisingly greasy forehead.
Barry stands there, staring for a few seconds at their handiwork. Some part of them wants to laugh. Another part of them is realizing it would only take half an hour to stick sticky notes on everyone in the Hall who’s violating the clearly posted list of rules at the front entrance.
They pick up the sandwich wrapper, toss it in a nearby garbage can, and get to work.
It turns out in the entire Hall, there were 72 litterers, 13 people touching exhibits, 54 people eating outside of the designated cafeteria and 12 people trying to pick flowers. Barry applied admonishing signed sticky notes to all of their foreheads, and also confiscated all of the unauthorized food and ate it.
Barry had to get a new pad of sticky notes several times. Thankfully, apparently someone thought it was funny to order Flash-themed sticky notes in bulk, so they’re probably not going to run out unless they do something crazy like sticking admonishing notes on every litterer in North America.
…Which they probably would have time to do, actually, even if they don’t want the League to notice them gone.
The thought is mildly terrifying, and Barry’s kind of bored with messing around with people breaking the rules, though, so they’re just going to find a zeta tube, walk home, and do some reading.
Before they leave, they check on the League. None of them have moved a muscle. Bruce is still on the same syllable. Diana is still in the middle of blinking. Hal’s phone is still refreshing the same frame, and not a single pixel has moved.
It takes a little bit of fiddling to get the zeta tube to recognize them, but once it does, it works perfectly fine, if a bit slow to charge up.
They don’t want to think about the implications any longer, so they just walk home, enjoying the perfect silence and the fact that they can just walk around the motionless cars in the street instead of waiting for the light to change so they can take the crosswalk.
Central City is pretty at night. They spend a lot of time in Central City at night anyway, just admiring the urban scenery and the inky darkness of the sky, but it’s even more peaceful with the mute button pressed on reality. Only their footsteps make any sound, and they’re quiet and comforting, more of a background heartbeat than anything jarring.
Their house looks just like it usually does- just as cookie-cutter as the other houses on the row, with the white siding, dark brown roof tiles and identical two-story floorplan- and yet Barry can’t help but think it looks a little bland. Even with the bird in the middle of colliding with their bedroom window.
None of their neighbors should be awake around now, and a quick glance through all of their darkened windows confirms that suspicion.
“Huh.” Barry says out loud, to themself. It’s the only sound in the entire world, and yet the sound of their own voice feels somehow wrong, like it’s not actually their voice. “I wonder if anyone would care if I painted the house a different color?”
There would certainly be questions about how they managed to paint the entire thing so fast, and about the sudden decision, and Gabby from the HOA would probably use it as an excuse to stick her nose in Barry’s business, but Barry’s never really cared about what their neighbors think of them, and they’re just realizing how boring their house looks painted the same generic off-white as everyone else.
You know what, they’re just going to nap on it. They’re actually really tired, now that they think about it.
…Now that they think about it, they’re definitely slipping into speedtime every time they sleep, because every time they fall asleep in front of people no one comments on it except to remind them to pay attention, they usually wake up at most a minute after falling asleep, and the one time they tried to sleep through the night they woke up a mere three minutes later unable to fall back asleep and practically vibrating through the blankets.
…not thinking about the implications of that right now.
Barry doesn’t bother changing out of their costume except to shuck their boots off by the door. They’re going to go back to the meeting when they wake up anyway, and they don’t want to waste time getting dressed when the League inevitably realize they've been gone for a full minute.
The stairs are a nightmare when their legs ache so much and their head feels like it’s full of stuffing, but they make it upstairs into their bedroom, promptly flopping facefirst onto the soft covers of their bed.
Their bed is absolute heaven after spending the whole day fighting to stay awake and resisting the temptation to take a quick nap at work. Barry didn’t even realize how tired they were until they laid down, but now they don’t even want to move, even just to pull the blankets over them.
The world remains utterly silent and still when Barry wakes up. They’re still a bit tired, but who isn’t when they wake up?
They glance over at their alarm clock- it’s still 8:45 PM, the numbers glowing red in the near-darkness of their bedroom.
They look out the window. There’s a bird in the process of colliding with their window. They’re pretty sure they saw the same exact bird in the same exact phase of colliding with their window when they got home.
“Holy fuck.” they blurt. “I stopped time completely, didn’t I?”
Their voice still sounds wrong, they note. Exactly how, they can’t put a finger on, but it’s probably related to the fact that logically they shouldn’t be able to hear themself if they’re moving a thousand(?) times faster than the speed of sound.
Well, time to experiment. Once they find a spare experiment notebook, of course. Science requires proper documentation.
Notebook acquired after fifteen minutes of searching their incredibly messy closets and only remembering to turn on a light halfway through, Barry walks downstairs and turns on their kitchen sink.
No water comes out of the tap, no matter how far they turn the handle. Just to be safe, they turn it back off again.
“Makes sense, the water isn’t actually falling because of something I did, the tap being open just means that the water pressure and gravity will push it out naturally.” Barry murmurs, scribbling down their findings. “I have to wonder what else doesn’t count as me acting on an object, rather than me simply putting a process into motion that won’t finish for me until I slow back down. I can clearly pick things up and move them around just fine, and a ballpoint pen worked….even though I’m just realizing that also works by capillary action.”
A thought strikes them. “I was expecting experimental results following the laws of physics from the tap turning on. If I turn it on with the intent to have water come out, what happens?”
The answer, it seems, is that water comes out. A little bit slower than it normally does, and it only comes out once they close their eyes, make hissing noises and pretend they can hear the sound of the water, but it comes out, and their hand is definitely now wet.
“Holy fuck, it’s entirely intent and expectations based.” Barry pauses. “I wonder if the Internet works?”
The Internet, does, in fact, work while Barry’s sped up this much. It’s a bit laggy, and their WiFi immediately dies as soon as Barry stops physically touching the device they’re using, but their phone works as long as they’re holding it. Somehow.
“There’s a good chance this is a violation of the laws of physics as we know it.” Barry says, staring in absolute awe as Ao3’s homepage loads on a device that was turned off when they left for the meeting, and should rightfully still be refreshing the pixels of their lock screen, if Hal’s phone is any indication of how electronic devices should behave when they’re moving at this speed. “I don’t even… how… well I guess I’m just going to be glad I’m not limited to physical books.”
Suddenly, sound enters Barry’s world. It sounds just as wrong as their voice, in exactly the same way, but they recognize the familiar strains of their favorite power metal band, even if it’s not playing any particular song they recognize. (Not that most of those songs are too audibly different except for the lyrics, and sometimes not even that. That just means every single one of their songs is an absolute banger.)
Ah fuck, the boss music is back. Barry‘s not sure why they hear boss music every time something important they need to deal with happens, like Mick having a bad day and deciding to burn down the city or Iris getting kidnapped by a fundamentialist Christian cult who took offence to her writing an article on them calling them a cult, but they do, and absolutely no one else can hear it.
It’s a little weird that it’s happening now, though, when time has been effectively frozen for a full day(?) for them and logically nothing important should have been able to happen in a fraction of a second.
“…Why do I hear boss music?” Barry checks their phone’s active apps to see if they’ve turned on music by accident(it’s happened, and they always panic). They don’t even have YouTube or Spotify open. “Okay, no, it’s not my phone, why the fuck would boss music be playing when I’m literally the only one fast enough to do anything at all right now? Is this just a warning that the Justice League is about to notice me missing?”
If it is, they should already be there as soon as they can. Guess they’re going back to the Hall earlier than they planned.
Sighing to themself, they sets their phone down on their bedside table(they really need to figure out how to get pockets in their costume) and start to walk back downstairs.
“Hello? Anyone? Anyone still here?” a voice calls from down the street, young and plaintive. Whoever it is, they sound utterly exhausted and terrified, despite the fact that no one else should be moving fast enough for Barry to register them as anything more than a statue.
Barry freezes at the foot of the stairs, breath catching. Belatedly, they realize that there’s a big picture window in their living room facing the street that they don’t have curtains for, and anyone looking in would have been clearly able to see Barry walking down the stairs.
Sure enough, there’s a patter of somehow-audible footsteps and a kid, about eight or nine by Barry’s estimation, walks up to their front window. They’ve got short, incredibly fluffy red hair, fair skin and, to Barry’s concern, one black eye. They’re also wearing entirely Flash merchandise- Flash-themed backpack covered in Flash pins, Flash-themed sneakers with little lightning bolts and a Flash-themed jacket over a “Flash Facts” T-shirt and lightning bolt-dotted pajama pants.
“Oh my god the Flash is right there wait why aren’t they moving oh my god I’m finally meeting the Flash this is awesome I don’t care if the world is frozen this is awesome-” The kid pauses, and slumps down to the ground in despair. “Wait, if the Flash is frozen too, then…oh no. I’m gonna be alone forever…”
Okay, now they just feel like a jerk. The kid’s clearly also a speedster if they can move and talk in speedtime, and Barry would have to be a monster if they were just going to let a kid think they’re alone forever.
They take a deep breath to calm their nerves, then pull on their boots, open the front door to their house and step out onto their lawn. “Kid? You okay?”
The kid startles, tipping over backwards. “The Flash just asked if I’m okay. Oh my god, the Flash just asked if I was okay. AAAAAA- okay enough screaming they can see this entire thing dammit they’re going to hate you-”
“Kid, I’m not going to hate you. Why would I hate you?” Barry says, keeping their voice and stance as neutral as they can. “You’re clearly a fan.”
Barry can practically see the hero worship glistening in the kid’s eyes as they stare up at Barry with an expression of utter awe. “Oh my god the Flash knows about me and doesn’t hate me this is the best day ever nothing else can compare oh my god Flash you’re my favorite hero ever favorite person ever I watch all your fights okay not all of them Dad doesn’t let me watch most of them but I still watch anyway when he’s not looking oh my god I’m talking to the Flash eee this is the best day ever-”
Okay, wow, this is awkward. Barry looks around for something, anything, to defuse the flood of excitable rambling coming out of this kid’s mouth. Oh, hey, the kid is wearing one of the Flash symbol nonbinary pins Barry made for Bruce’s last charity fundraiser.
“Does the nonbinary pin mean anything?” Barry says, for lack of a better topic. “Or are you just wearing it because it’s Flash merchandise?”
The kid abruptly stops mid-sentence. Barry instantly feels a thousand times more awkward.
“…Um…” the kid says, not meeting Barry’s gaze. “What do you mean nonbinary pin?”
“Kid, why do you think the color selection is like that?” Barry pauses. “This isn’t a test, I won’t get mad if you answer wrong.”
“…Because it’s a bootleg and it’s technically not actually Flash merchandise, I just picked it up cuz it was kinda Flash-themed and the funds were going towards charity?” the kid offers, still not meeting Barry’s eyes.
"Well, kiddo, the colors are like that because those are the colors of the nonbinary pride flag. As for it being a bootleg, that pin is probably the closest thing to genuine Flash merchandise available.” Barry tilts their head. “I don’t actually get any royalties from the stuff that advertises itself as “official Flash merchandise”, and I’ve never actually signed any merchandising deals. Those pins, on the other hand, I made myself, and even if none of the money went to me instead of going towards charity, that was my decision.”
The kid stares, one hand idly reaching up to touch the pin. “Oh my god, I’m wearing something the Flash made by hand. And I thought it was a bootleg.”
“So we can safely say that it doesn’t mean anything and you’re just wearing it because it’s Flash merchandise, yes?” Barry asks.
The kid nods. “Mhm!”
“Name and pronouns?” Barry asks. (Why was that not the first thing they asked? They…don’t know. They probably just got sidetracked by all the hero worship.)
“Wally. He/him.” Wally pauses. “What’s a nonbinary?”
“Okay, so it basically means you’re not exactly a man or a woman, and your gender is something else. I’m abinary, which means my gender is completely outside the male/female binary, but nonbinary covers anyone who isn’t 100% just a man or 100% just a woman, including people who are both or just a little of one.”
“…Oh…so that’s what the lady on TV was talking about.” Wally looks rather annoyed at himself for not knowing. “Now I’m even more annoyed that Dad made me miss the good part…”
Barry’s not quite sure how they ended up explaining nonbinary people to an eight-year-old with super speed, but their legs are starting to hurt from all the standing and they kind of want to sit down. “If you’re talking about that one interview with GBS in March, then yes, that was what Cat Grant was talking about. Also, do you mind if we go back inside, so I can sit down?”
“Wait I get to go inside your house- AAAA I get to go inside the Flash’s house best day ever AAAAA-” Aaaand there’s the hero worship back. Barry thought Wally had calmed down, but apparently not.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Barry gently pulls Wally through the open door and closes it behind them. “Mind taking off your shoes?”
“Oh! Oh yeah I can do that!” Wally hurriedly pulls his shoes off, revealing the Flash-themed crew socks underneath. Barry has to admire the commitment. "Wow, you’ve got a fancy living room.”
Barry’s honestly a little touched that their living room is still “fancy” even after they sold several of the antiques their mother loved and replaced them with stuff from IKEA to pay for the medical bills incurred by their accident. Their mother would have been furious if she found out Barry prioritized keeping her furniture over her only child, but they still sometimes feel guilty about it.
(As much as they wish they could have saved her, Barry’s just thankful their mother lived long enough to see them graduate from university, even if there’s still the occasional moment of despair that for all their power, they can’t cure pancreatic cancer.)
“Thank you.” Barry says, for lack of anything else to say that isn’t incredibly personal.
They take a seat on their couch, sighing in relief at the pressure taken off their joints. Running’s always easier than anything else could ever be, but standing still and talking always makes their joints complain, and sitting is always infinitely better than being forced to stand for long periods of time.
“Hey, do you know why we’re the only people who are, you know, moving?” Wally asks, taking a seat on the armchair across from Barry. It sounds innocent and casual at first glace, but Barry can hear how nervous he is.
Barry takes a deep breath. “Because we’re both moving at the same speed. Everyone else isn’t frozen, just…slow. Too slow to catch up to us.”
Wally blinks, mind visibly churning. “But then…that means that I’m also super-fast. I don’t feel super-fast…it just feels like everyone else stopped moving. Wait- OH MY GOD I HAVE THE FLASH’S POWERS THIS IS INCREDIBLE OH MY GOD-”
“Calm down, kiddo. Deep breaths.” Barry places a gentle hand on Wally’s shoulder. “We have all the time in the world, but you still need to calm down.”
“Okay, okay, I can do that!” Wally pauses. “Wait, is this why you’re walking everywhere like a normal human?”
“Got it in one.” Barry tilts their head. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out earlier…then again, you’re not me and it’s honestly more impressive that you’re going this fast right after getting your powers.”
“…I’ve been here for weeks…” Wally confesses, slumping in his seat. “No one’s moved. I have no idea how to get time to start moving again. You’re the first person I’ve talked to in forever. I was beginning to think I’d grow old and die with the world stuck like this.”
Barry averts their gaze. “I don’t actually know how to teach someone to slow down. It was practically the first thing I did after getting my powers, and it’s always been harder for me to not slow down to a pace just above human. I think it was a bit harder than it is now to slow down just after I got my powers, but I’ve always known how and it’s practically second nature at this point.”
“Oh.” Wally kicks his legs against the leather of the chair’s base, sounding weirdly despondent. “Okay.”
“It’s not really a big deal- I’d appreciate the time to get to talk to you without having to deal with things at a human pace. This is the first break I’ve let myself have in a while, actually.” Barry forces a smile onto their face. “Don’t tell Batman, but his lectures are really, really boring.”
“You…want to talk to me?” Wally’s expression is a mixture of disbelief and awe. “You? The Flash?”
“Well yeah. I don’t see any other speedsters around here. Even Superman hasn’t moved a millimeter by now, and it’s been at least two hours for me. I’m pretty sure I could spend weeks like this and the League wouldn’t even notice I left at all when I go back.” Barry sighs. “And I do have to go back at some point.”
“…You sound weirdly annoyed about that.” Wally hazards, not meeting Barry’s gaze.
Barry takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “They’re my friends. They’re perfectly respectful. They’re just…too slow. And nobody ever respects exactly how much effort I put in for them, because they never see me do anything. Nobody appreciates exactly how much of a feat it is to sit through a boring meeting when you have to consciously focus your attention on staying slow enough to hear their words as words. I just….wanted to get away from that. And I found you, and you seem like a good kid, so honestly this turned out better than I expected.”
Are they being a little too open with a random kid they just met? Maybe. But they’re alone in a frozen world, and Wally is the only person who has a hope of truly understanding what Barry goes through trying to live a normal life, and the only person who isn’t a frozen statue while they’re moving at their natural speed.
“Oh.” Wally looks up at Barry, a realization building in his eyes. “Oh.”
“What?”
“How long have you been alone?” Wally asks. “A few weeks seemed like a long time to me, but…”
Barry blinks. “I’m not alone now, and it’s only been a few hours at most, even from my perspective. From the League’s perspective, it’s been less than a second. I could go back and resume talking to them at any moment, though I kind of don’t want to until you figure out how to slow down as well, because that would mean leaving you alone for what could be millions of years.”
“…You still seem really lonely.” Wally says, with all of the bluntness of an eight-year-old who has been isolated from human contact for several weeks and is coping through a complete lack of tact. Barry’s pretty sure it was only the hero worship that kept Wally from being this blunt earlier. “I don’t want the Flash to be lonely. You’re the best hero. You deserve better.”
Barry stares blankly, not quite sure what to say. “I…”
Wally winces, and promptly changes the subject. He chooses the worst possible subject. “Hey, is it true that you have a crush on Green Lantern? Cuz I told Sadie that you totally have a crush on Green Lantern and she looked at me weird and said superheroes don’t get crushes on each other, and I told her nuh uh, they’re really obviously in love, and Sadie told me I was being an idiot, and Sadie’s usually right, so…”
“Oh my god, kiddo. You can’t just ask someone if they have a crush on their coworker?!” Barry is absolutely not blushing. They are absolutely not blushing. They absolutely do not have a crush on Hal, they’re just besties, Hal’s dating Carol anyway, so it’s doomed and pointless even if they did have a crush. “Also, for your information, I absolutely do not have a crush on Green Lantern.”
“Uh huh. You’re blushing. People blush when they think about their crushes. Everyone knows that.”
Barry blushes harder. “Okay, kid, let’s keep a handle on the verbal evisceration, mmkay?”
“Okay!” Wally gets out of his chair and glances around Barry’s living room. “I’m hungry. Do you have any food?”
Barry blinks at the abrupt change in topic, but decides to let it slide. Anything is better than being interrogated about their very much nonexistent crush on Hal.
“…What have you been eating for the last few weeks?” Barry can’t help but ask. “Please tell me you’ve been eating.”
“Well, I ran out of stuff in my school lunch a while back, and I forgot where my house is, so I’ve just been taking food I find lying around and hoping it’s edible.” Wally blinks at Barry’s flabbergasted expression. “Wait, what’d I say?”
Barry is just now realizing that Wally has been completely unsupervised for weeks now, and it’s probably a miracle he’s still alive.
“Kiddo, I’m just concerned for you.” they manage. “Where do you live?”
Wally blinks, then looks around Barry’s living room again. “I don’t know where Blue Valley is in relation to here.”
Well, Barry does know where Blue Valley is. There’s only one in the United States. Which is in fucking Nebraska.
Seeing as how Central City is on the border between Kansas and Missouri, that’s like 350 kilometers away, assuming Wally followed the major roads.
“…Hey, Wally, what state are we in right now?”
Wally considers that for a second, scrunching up his nose as he thinks. “…Nebraska?”
“Wrong. We’re in Missouri.” Barry pinches the bridge of their nose. “And I know full well where Blue Valley is in relation to Central City, so I’m genuinely unsure how you walked 350 kilometers and didn’t notice you were in another state.”
Wally blinks. “Wait, have you been to Blue Valley?”
“I’ve been to pretty much everywhere in the continental United States, and also quite a few bits of the non-continental United States. Alaska’s actually quite nice this time of year.” Barry pauses. “Blue Valley’s a nice town with nice trees, to be frank, even if I didn’t stay long.”
“Oh my god, the Flash has been to my hometown. And he likes the trees.” Wally is practically beaming. If not for his black eye, he’d be straight out of a commercial. “This is awesome!”
Trust Wally to laser-focus on only the things that make it into his Flash obsession. Barry’s only known the kid for like fifteen minutes and he’s still predictable.
“Are you hungry or not?” Barry reminds him. “Because I can actually get you food. This is my house, and I got groceries yesterday.”
“Oh my god the Flash is offering me food.”
“That’s a yes, then?”
“Of course it is! Your food is probably way more delicious than what Mom makes, anyway. You’re the Flash.” Wally beams. “Oh my god I get to eat the Flash’s food-”
Barry decides not to mention that they mostly just get takeout and reheat pizza pockets. They’re actually not that good at cooking(despite the three years of Foods class they took in high school purely to get free snacks) and between work, the Flash and the Justice League, they don’t really have the time or energy to properly cook.
Despite themself, they kind of do want to actually try cooking an actual meal for once, if only to not break Wally’s heart by showing him exactly how much of a sad pathetic mess his idol is.
They’re pretty sure they have some Kraft Dinner around here somewhere, how hard could it be to boil water and cook pasta? Seven minutes, three steps.
The first problem Barry encountered is that things only work properly in speedtime if they’re actively touching or interacting with them, and that includes both the stove and the pot of water.
Considering how much they hate standing up to cook, and how long it takes to boil water even when they’re not in speedtime, this is going to be a nightmare.
At least their stove is an induction cooktop, so they just need to have one hand stirring or touching the pot and another hand on a cool part of the cooktop, and don’t need to actively hold their hand in a gas flame.
(It’s definitely a testament to how weird Barry’s life has gotten since the accident that Barry knows full well the burns from holding their hand in a gas flame for seven minutes would heal without any trace of scarring in a few hours at most and it would stop hurting at all after a few seconds.)
(…Wally still has a black eye after weeks and Barry’s wounds stick around for several hours while they’re not in speedtime, so there’s actually a good chance any injuries Barry sustains in speedtime won’t heal until they drop out of speedtime. Though that could just be Wally not realizing that speedsters have a healing factor and healing rate also being expectation-based. Barry might have to test that with like…a papercut or something.)
Barry stares at the pot on the stove, which has still not even begun to heat up even though Barry’s been focusing intently on getting it to heat up for several minutes now, and decides that if they’re going to keep doing this they might as well get a chair from their dining room and sit down.
They’re pondering whether it would be safe to leave the stove unattended while they get a chair(it’s not like the stove would actually work if they’re not touching it, after all), when they remember that they have a convenient helper just a room away and Wally would probably be absolutely thrilled to fetch a chair for the Flash.
“Wally? Can you grab a chair from the dining room and bring it over here?” they call. “I’m getting a little tired of standing, and I’d appreciate it!”
“Oh, yeah yeah, I can do that!” Wally chirps. “One chair, coming right up.”
There’s a bunch of disquietingly loud noises of wood scraping on wood, and a few noises of effort from Wally, then Wally comes stumbling into the kitchen with a an ornately cast wrought-iron chair hefted above his head. The thing is bigger than he is and made of solid iron, so it’s kind of impressive that he managed to pick it up at all.
Barry takes their hand off the stove, then rushes over to help Wally. “Kiddo, don’t hurt yourself! That’s the heaviest chair I own, anyway…”
Wally takes a few panting breaths as Barry takes the chair from him and sets it to the side. Barry quickly gives Wally a once-over for any bruises or injuries, and to their horror finds not only the black eye Wally’s been sporting since he got here, but a very clear bruise in the shape of an adult man’s handprint on Wally’s wrist.
“…Wally, do you know why your bruises haven’t healed yet?” Barry asks, kneeling by Wally’s side. While he doesn’t have the expertise to actually analyze the wounds properly, the bruise is clearly very fist-shaped, and kids don’t get hand-shaped bruises from horsing around or casual contact.
Wally blinks. “They turned bluish black a few days ago, so that means they’re healing.”
“Kiddo, you’re a speedster. Bruises should turn yellow and disappear in a few seconds at most.” Barry politely doesn’t mention the fact that a kid Wally’s age shouldn’t have the process of bruise healing memorized. “I’m a little concerned that it’s been weeks and they’re healing at a normal human speed.”
“…Oh. Right. I’m a speedster. I have your powers.” Wally sounds uncharacteristically despairing at the fact, especially since he was so excited about having the Flash’s powers earlier.
“Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few seconds for everyone else?” Barry offers. “How’d you get them, anyway?”
Wally visibly flinches, looking like a deer in the headlights. “I…uh…fell down the stairs?”
Well…that’s basically verbal confirmation that Wally’s parents are hitting him. Barry knows full well what injuries from actually falling down stairs look like, and Wally’s injuries are in the wrong pattern in entirely the wrong places for them to buy that, even if Wally wasn’t so hesitant before coming up with an excuse practically everyone knows stands for abuse by now.
They’re just going to change the subject. It’s not like they can really do anything about it right now anyway. (Even if they are absolutely taking mental notes.)
“You know, I still haven’t finished making dinner. How about I get a chair that’s not so heavy, and you can…uh…” What do they do with a random eight-year-old? What do eight-year-olds do to entertain themselves, anyway? They’ve never really interacted with kids much… “Actually, what do you want to do? I have some books, but they’re a bit complicated for an eight-year-old… I think maybe I have some puzzles around here somewhere? Puzzles don’t spoil, do they? They’re just cardboard…”
Wally visibly brightens. “Oh, I’m smart! I should be able to handle complicated books!”
Barry only reads nonfiction, and most of the few books they do own that aren’t academic treatises, extremely dry technical manuals or college textbooks are a bit dark for an eight-year-old. They’re sure Wally thinks he can handle some more complicated books, but he’s still eight.
“Do you like the sound of Octopus, Squid and Cuttlefish: A Visual, Scientific Guide to the Ocean’s Most Advanced Vertebrates?” Barry asks, scanning their kitchen island for books appropriate for children. “Because it’s that or the 2011 Annual Book of ASTM Standards, Section Fourteen, General Methods And Instrumentation, and that’s a very dry read even if you have a college degree in Forensic Chemistry.”
Wally perks up even more. “Ooh, cephalopods!”
Barry hands over Octopus, Squid and Cuttlefish, then pulls the chair Wally retrieved for them up next to the stove, rests their hand on the stove and settles in for a long few minutes of watching water boil.
This is…probably going to take a while.
At least the boss music has shifted to a nice upbeat classical melody, even if it hasn’t gone away entirely.