IT HASN’T FELT REAL. like the moment they told him, time just stopped and everything that has happened since has been nothing more than echoes of Before. there’s an almost uncomfortable familiarity with this- the ache in his chest, the constant question of what could i have done different running through his mind at breakneck speeds, the worry and sense of loss he can practically feel radiating off those around him. ( hasn’t he already done this? hasn’t he lived this before? )
HE APPRECIATES BARRY more than he could ever really put into words. knows the younger man is feeling his own grief and god almighty, if jay could take it from him he would. barry means his question genuinely and for a moment, jay wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him. he wants to tell barry that he can’t keep putting other people ahead of himself and try to take care of them, that he has to for a moment- god, for one goddamn moment- he has to let himself be first. forget what other people need or what he could do for them but to take the moment and just grieve. be sad, be angry, be broken, be whatever but be selfish for once. ( but that’s selfish on jay’s part— you don’t get to dictate how other people express their grief, garrick. )
THE SMILE THAT PICKS UP the corners of his mouth is tired and lackluster, never really reaching his eyes. “i think it’s time someone asked you that,” jay says quietly, reaching a hand out and gripping the other’s arm gently, “how’re you holding up? is there anything i can do for you?”
he didn’t even realize it was jay coming up to him. his mind was too distant, he didn’t really feel like barry allen right now. that was good. barry allen couldn’t really handle this. but the flash could. and god, he knew the minute he took of the cowl and those wings came off it would just be him who’d lost someone. he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to come back from that so easily. he couldn’t afford to lose it yet, not when things were so messy, when everyone was depending on a league that was falling apart at the seams. on heroes that were falling apart at the seams.
but jay’s hand on his arm broke the very precarious damn he’d built. it was a sharp clarity in a world that had been fuzzy and muted since the bomb blew. his whole body jerked like a snapped rubber band, his eyes welled, a breath was forced out of him that shuddered and cracked like it was escaping through dry branches. but he wasn’t barry allen right now, he was the flash, and the flash didn’t break down the flash didn’t do this.
he pressed his eyes together and tilted his head to the side, swallowed hard, and in the next breath he regained a bit of his composure. careful, careful not to look at jay because that would certainly pull back the curtain again. there were a few people he couldn’t just be the flash with. jay was one of them. the other reason he couldn’t look at jay was that the guilt threatened to cut him to the very floor. bart was...bart was his grandson, and he loved him, and he was supposed to protect him—god, he wasn’t even a grandparent anymore, was he? and jay. jay. who had just lost joan. who had now lost the boy he’d raised. bart was barry’s grandson, he was his blood, he was kid flash...and he was jay’s boy.
his mouth opened. closed. words were difficult to find right now. barry usually knew the right things to say but he was failing right now. too much pain. too much pain everywhere. clark. poor clark. so many people. the world was in pain. he didn’t have time for barry’s pain. the flash had work to do. but when his eyes finally did look to jay, flashing a bright blue cased in carefully contained emotion, his mouth found the words and it felt like opening a wound, blood pooling out in one exhausted phrase. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”