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El Paso, New Mexico
July 24, 04:23 MDT
Unfortunately, Jaime had not inherited the deep sleeper trait the rest of his family had.
Being Blue Beetle didn’t help, either. He woke up already reaching out to Scarab, then realized that, no, everything was fine. The Scarab hadn’t detected any issues within the house, the security alarm wasn’t going off, and he had asked to have Bart over. With the Watchtower not quite ready for guests yet and the West-Allen family mourning the loss of Wally still, Bart had been couch-surfing. Tim had offered, but there was only so much he and the others could do. So, of course, with his parents’ permission, Jaime had offered their couch.
That doesn’t explain why he’s up this early, though, Jaime groaned, glancing over at his alarm clock. He could hear Bart’s feet thudding on the floor, softly. Still there, though. It’s so early. Why is he—ugh. I should go check on him.
The Scarab almost grunted in sympathy. This Bart Allen is unusually loud for this time of night. Perhaps the future is not as polite as it should be.
Swinging his legs out of bed, feet landing on the floor, Jaime groaned again and rubbed the back of his neck. His left shoulder ached something fierce. “I know, ese, but he did grow up in a future where I was the Big Bad. Maybe we should cut him some slack.” He replied, keeping his voice low. Honestly, he wasn’t sure it mattered—Impulse, Bart, likely couldn’t hear him, and his family definitely didn't. Even if they hadn’t somehow figured out that Jaime was Blue Beetle before the Leaguers even told them (okay, it was probably because Jaime was a klutz on a good day and that had not gotten better after he became a superhero and started sneaking out late at night), then him talking wasn’t going to wake them up. He had crashed into the side of the house once, after all. It was a mess.
Still, he tried to keep his steps quiet. Milagro would murder him if he woke her up at four thirty in the morning. He’d already done that once, crashing through the window with a few good burns and way too many bruises (ironically, not the time he hit the house. Different time). Anyways, she had helped patch him up and complained the whole time, even when he went out of his way to get her McDonald’s and Panda Express and Wendy’s and freaking Bat Burger from Gotham City, New Jersey. She would not be satisfied with Whataburger or Thataburger or Blake’s Lotaburger (why were there so many places like that?) or anything else. She only wanted Gotham City Bat Burger because it was “more authentic” and he had nothing in the way of proper protest.
Jaime slipped into the living room. Bart was there, in their connected dining room, pacing around the table at a normal speed. On the couch, the blankets that Jaime’s mama had supplied were rumpled, the pillow puffed up like the occupant had been tossing and turning for hours. Bart probably had been. With a frown, Jaime glanced at his friend and studied his face.
Eyes slightly reddened, Bart sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, turning on his heel as he carefully paced across the familiar terracotta tiles that made up the dining room. His hair was unkempt, like he had hidden his head under the blankets in an attempt to sleep. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. He’d gotten up, inevitably.
“Bart.” Jaime said, walking over to him. Pausing, Bart turned to him, swallowing when Jaime touched his shoulder gently. “Ese, you gotta get some sleep. Something wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Tearing his gaze away, Bart took a shaky breath. Jaime pulled a chair out. Holding onto his shoulders, he dragged Bart over to it, forcing him to sit down with his hands on his shoulders. There was a soft, choked-off noise. “I’m fine, Jaime.”
Jaime Reyes, he is lying.
“Yeah, I know, ese. Be quiet.” Jaime said, tilting his head to the side just enough for Bart to know he was talking to the Scarab, not to him. Taking a slow breath, Bart rubbed his arms. He then started cracking his fingers one by one, subconsciously. His breath hitched. “What’s wrong, ese?”
“Can’t sleep.” Bart shrugged. “It’s fine. Never slept well, anyways. Scavengers don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Looking at him, Jaime tipped his head to the side. “Scavengers don’t sleep well. The future freaking you out?”
“No.” Looking away, knee bouncing slower than it usually wound, Bart sighed, “Yes. I just—Barry’s here, Wally’s…gone, and I’m stuck in the past. But—but I’m fine, I just—”
“You’re anxious.” Jaime glanced at the kitchen. Rubbing the back of his neck again, hand lingering on his shoulder, he said, “Well, I’m not the best at emotional support—that was always my mom’s thing, but…I could make a horchata?”
“A hor-what-a?” Bart looked at him, head inclined slightly. It reminded Jaime simultaneously of a dog and of Gar.
“Horchata? Okay, well, ours is horchata de arroz. Rice, cinnamon, little bit of vanilla. We only have a box mix, can’t exactly head out to a taqueria this late at night since most won’t be open—” Pausing as he reached for the box mix, which he was pretty sure one of Milagro’s friends had given her as a joke, he asked, “Wait, Bart, are you allergic to walnuts? Because this has walnuts.”
“I don’t know, I’ve never had walnuts.”
With a hum, Jaime changed tactics, looking through what they had in the cabinet. They had a bunch of different kinds of teas, the horchata mix that he wasn’t using, and a few other things. Coffee, mostly, which he wasn’t giving to Bart. He did not want to see Bart on caffeine. He might start bouncing off the walls. We do also have frescas in the fridge. Mama made strawberry and guava, but…
Sighing in frustration, he said, “You know, ese, we need to get you tested.”
“For what?”
“Allergies, so you don’t die suddenly from your food.” He didn’t even bother glancing back. He could still feel Bart’s eyes on him.
Casually, Bart replied with an audible shrug, “I think my metabolism will handle that.”
Jaime looked at him, scandalized. “I’m not taking that risk.” He turned back to their options. Well…only one percent of the population is allergic to chocolate and I’ve seen him chugging milk and wolfing down on chocolate (it was his chocolate but Jaime was ignoring that), so he’s probably not allergic to it. “You like hot chocolate?”
“Never had it.” When Jaime stared at him, Bart raised his hands defensively. “What? The Reach kind of killed off a lot of plants, dude, I never had the chance.”
“I’m grabbing the marshmallows. You have a lot to catch up on, ese.”
“Crash.”
Thankfully, Jaime knew how to work the microwave without waking up anyone else. He was not about to mess with the oven, his mom would murder him. And then turn around, apologize to Bart, and make him enough sopaipilla that even he would feel full. Or frybread. One of his high school classmates’ moms had taught her the recipe for frybread and Jaime knew Bart would love it—it was way better for him than those freeze-dried Chicken Whizzies were, anyways. Something for tomorrow, though, he thought as he poured the milk into their mugs. The mugs were handmade. Milagro had made them when she was getting into pottery. They were lumpy, the glaze was a bit too bright in some places and too thin in others, but they were her design and he would be damned if he didn’t use them.
Clearly, Bart hadn’t had marshmallows, either. Jaime wasn’t going to talk about that. Okay, he was—he was definitely telling Milagro, and maybe Tim and Gar so they could drag Bart along to a team bonfire and show him the wonders of s’mores. Bart could eat the Justice League out of their food budget, but it would be worth it. And maybe then he won’t steal from my locker.
“Thanks.” Bart said, cupping the mug and breaking the silence. Leaning against the couch, one arm thrown over the back, Jaime tilted his head. “For the hot chocolate. And the couch. It’s a lot more comfortable than the floor.”
Jaime glanced at his friend again as Bart went to rub at his chest. Now that he could really notice, it was more and more obvious Bart was rubbing right under his left collarbone, over his heart. With a frown, Jaime prompted, “You want to talk about it?”
“It’s nothing. I mean, we saved the world from the Reach, saved you from becoming the Big Bad. It’s all good, right?”
“If I have learned anything from Black Canary, ese, that’s not how The Life works.” Jaime took a sip of his drink. Wrinkling his nose, he glanced into the cup. I didn’t heat this milk up enough. He thought. Bart either hadn’t noticed or wasn’t about to complain.
“Yeah, but—it’s dumb. Barry’s still alive. Wally’s not.” Something about that was off, Bart was focusing on it. Nudging him with his foot, Jaime waited until Bart turned to him.
“If you’re not comfortable talking with me about it, you can talk with Canary. Her office is open.” With a huff, Jaime added, “It is her job.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just—I don’t know.” Bart set his mug down, cracking his knuckles one by one again. The soft pops rang out in the living room. “It didn’t happen. Why freak out about it? Doesn’t make sense.”
“Like time travel makes sense?”
“Time travel does make sense,” Bart turned to him, “It uses chrono and Zeta radiation in order to—and you were just distracting me, ha! Nice try, but—”
The house settled, or maybe one of Jaime’s family shifted in their beds. Still, Bart snapped upright, turning to look. Watching him worriedly, Jaime suggested, “Dude. Do you want to share a room tonight?”
“What? No, I can’t do that to you, I—” Jaime looked at him, waiting. Shoulders dropping, Bart sighed, “Dude. We barely know one another.”
“You have been here since February. We know each other. Besides, I’ve done all-nighters with Tye and his new buddies before, and I know you a lot more than I know Virgil, Ed, and Asami. Asami and I don’t even speak the same language half the time.”
“Wait, really? How do you two talk?”
“Scarab.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
El Paso, New Mexico
July 24, 11:26 MDT
Jaime woke up to Milagro snickering, his door open, and his mother standing in his room.
“You leave them be, Milagro. They’re superheroes.” Bianca Reyes scolded gently, taking her daughter’s arm to push her down the hallway. “Now go help your father.”
“But that’s Jaime’s job.”
“Jaime’s job is to host.” Bianca chided. Thankfully, Milagro retreated. With a groan, Jaime raised his head. Bianca smiled at him, “You left your mugs on the sink counter. I’m not your maid.”
“Ugh, sorry, Mom.” He tried to push himself up. When he did, Bart shifted in his sleep. There was a low, almost plaintive sound. “I can take care of—”
“He needs sleep. Don’t wake him up.” Bianca’s eyes lingered on Bart for a moment. “You said he doesn’t have any family?”
“Well, it’s…hard to explain.” Jaime paused. Quietly, Bianca walked in and closed the door behind her, giving them a little bit more privacy. Thinking over the words, he thought for a few moments more. Then he started talking, “It’s one of the superhero things. He’s from the future, came back to make sure the Reach didn’t get to do what they wanted to. Technically, his grandparents are here, but his parents might not even be born yet. They’re mourning Kid Flash, anyways, so he doesn’t want to be a bother to them. They did know KF more than they know him.”
Bianca walked over to settle on the bed next to Bart, dark eyes soft. Gently, she rested a hand on Bart’s shoulder. He didn’t stir, which was maybe the biggest indicator of how tired he was. He didn’t sleep heavily ever, except…for now, obviously. “He sounds like a sweet kid. I’m going to go make some sopaipillas. Do you think he’d like them?”
“He’d never had hot chocolate with marshmallows before last night, and he’s a speedster. I think he’ll love it.” As she got up, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, Jaime added, “Thanks, Mom. For everything.”
She smiled at him, then ducked out the door.