November 5: On a mission/Spell
Today was not going well for Wally, or the League as a whole, really. A certain fifth dimensional bastard who would not be named had gotten it into his head that a fun way to cause chaos in the League would be to swap their powers, which Wally immediately knew would suck ass for everyone. Especially whoever ended up with superspeed. And whoever got telepathy, for that matter.
So, when their powers were switched and Bruce collapsed to the ground, vibrations and a brand-new connection to the speedforce coursing through his body, Wally didn’t panic. Instead, he calmly (but quickly) made his way to Bruce, kneeling down to sit next to him.
Bruce was glowing with the speedforce, and Wally could feel it in the air, the hum of ozone and ambient static electricity that he had come to be familiar with.
Painstakingly, in what, to anyone else would be the blink of an eye, Bruce turned his face towards Wally’s, though his eyes were unfocused.
Wally smiled warmly. “Good. A bit different in practice than theory, huh?” He kept his voice light, but it was much quieter than usual. Bruce probably wasn't having a good time when it came to his sensory experience, if Wally’s own first experience with the speedforce was anything to go by. With superspeed, you had the time to take in everything, every little detail, every sound and bit of ambient noise that you could physically take in, and for someone not yet used to that who was also unaware of how to settle back into a ‘normal’ frame of consciousness, it could be too much.
“I want to try something. Can you make a fist for me?” Bruce nodded, too fast for anyone not a speedster. In a flash, his clenched fists were in front of Wally.
“Relax,” he said, ghosting his fingers gently over the too-hot skin of Bruce’s fist, feeling the frantic vibration of his hands. “If you dig your nails in you’ll hurt yourself.”
Wally sighed as the tension in Bruce’s fists lessened, just a little. The tension in his shoulders did not go away, but it was good enough for now.
“I want you to name something you sense— short answers only— and when you name it, release a finger.” Wally placed his hands on the back of Bruce’s. “Start with sight.”
“We’ll skip taste. What do you hear?”
For each thing he said, Bruce released a finger, his breathing growling imperceptibly slow, the vibrating lessening.
“Yoursuit. Tar. Your voice. Your hands on mine.” Slowly but surely, Bruce stopped vibrating, his hands still in Wally’s. He turned them over, lacing his fingers through Wally’s.
“Is this how you feel all the time?” Bruce’s voice was quiet as he stared down at where their fingers interlocked.
“At first, yeah. I had to make a conscious effort to slow myself down, and let me tell you, I didn't know any sort of grounding methods like that, so it was meltdowns and sensory overload every few minutes for a very long time. The only upside was that I could speed up to have them so no one would notice. Eventually I adjusted, and figured out ways to calm myself down. It was certainly a learning curve, though.” Wally laughed quietly.
“What is there to be sorry for? It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn't be there to help you. You shouldn't have had to go through that alone.”
“B, you can't blame yourself for things that already happened.”
“Watch me.” Wally laughed at that, loud and genuine, something warm in his heart at the small smile that was evident on Bruce’s face.
Bruce leaned towards him, lifting his hand to gently touch Wally’s cheek. Wally leaned into the touch, sure that his face was about to burst with joy.
“May I—” Bruce started to say, but Wally cut him off.
“I think you already know my answer, Mr. World’s Greatest Detective.”
And Bruce kissed him, still smelling like ozone, skin still warm from vibration. Static electricity quite literally zapped him as Bruce gently placed his hand on Wally’s bicep.
It was a perfect kiss. Now they had a villain, or whatever Mr. Mxyzptlk was, to stop.