Teach us to sit still.
He has hands tucked into denim pockets while you use the edge of the building as a balance beam, arms outstretched in an attempt to provide some sort of balance. He has his eyebrows furrowed together, the space between them stretched thin-- you think this is the most focused you've ever seen him. When you're too busy traveling the distance between the 'you are here' point and Spain, neither of you have a lot of time to think-- all you can do is listen to the heavy footfalls.
He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, like a fish. Like he's searching for the right words to say, but has yet to find them-- or like they taste bitter on his tongue. Foreign, unfamiliar. That's how it's been recently. You expected it to all fall back into place, simple and easy-- but you've been wrong before. Plenty of times, actually.
This was one of those times.
You mumble, "I didn't think we'd have to talk about it. I didn't think we'd need to." He glances up, eyebrows still furrowed. You turn on the ball of your foot, start the other way-- still practicing your tightrope walking routine for the circus. His voice is dry, sounds like tinfoil-- like static, snow on the television screen. "Bart, you died." You shrug, never looking away from your feet (that's how it usually goes). "Most people do. It's the circle of life. Hey! Ever seen the Lion King?"
"Don't change the subject."
You frown, go silent-- something rare for you. He sighs, heavy like the tension weighing down on the both of you. "Most people stay dead, you know." You pause, your footing nearly slipping (you notice him flinch, reach out for you). "You sayin' you wanted me to stay dead?" He sighs again, even heavier this time. "No, no. I'm just saying-- it's a surprise, that's all. It still hasn't sunk in, you know?" You slip into a sitting position, shake your head. "No. It's not like anything's changed." He, Tommy, laughs at this-- but it's not a funny laugh. It's the sort of laugh that's meant to feel gaps, dulled down with sandpaper. "You can't be serious. You became the Flash-- you ditched. I'm not saying it was completely your decision, but things changed, Bart. Things changed and then you died. And now--" He hesitates. "Now you're back."
You swing your legs over the edge so you can face him-- so you can have feet firmly planted on the ground. "Yeah. So-- can't we just fall back into routine or something?" You've never seen him falter so much. He's Tommy-- he doesn't falter. He's ten shades of confidence and then some. It makes you itch. "You're different, you know."
"Duh. I went from Impulse to Kid Flash to the Flash and back again. I went from sixteen to twenty and back to sixteen. I died and then I rose from the grave. Sort of like Jesus."
He laughs-- now that's something familiar. "Maybe it's the second coming of the Messiah." You grin, flashing pearly whites until your jaw feels heavy. "Think so? Dying for your sins might take a firing squad or something. Nothing personal." You both laugh and laugh until you're sick to your stomachs-- dull aches penetrating your sides. He rubs at his arm, scuffs his sneakers against the ground. "But you are different. Calmer, more patient, always one step ahead of everyone-- but not in the same way you used to be. Not just in speed, I mean. It's weird."
You grin. "Yeah? You're different, too."
You watch his features twist and morph into confusion-- but yet, he still grins. "Yeah? How so?"
You're on your feet, quickly becoming a blur-- "You're slower."