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It's around 3:31 am when Barry wakes up from a nightmare.
He can't even remember what it was, the last flashes of it leaving his memory within seconds of waking, but he can remember the feeling all the same.
His entire body trembles, iciness travelling through his veins.
Bruce likes to keep the manor cold, though Barry supposes having a building big enough to house a hundred bedrooms would be hard to effectively heat.
Barry normally runs warm. All he has to do is run a few laps and within a millisecond he's back up to temperature. At night however, his body temperature drops. Sleeping means staying still which means that more often than not he wakes up shivering.
Barry rubs his hands on his arms in quick swipes, desperately trying to warm himself up without leaving his room.
He's not sure what alarm system the manor has, but Barry would really rather not accidentally trigger one. He doubts Bruce is asleep right now, but he's probably doing something of importance and Barry would really hate to interrupt his focus just because he's a bit cold.
For some reason, Barry can't shake the frigidness in his bones, and he's starting to realise it probably has more to do with an emotional response to the dream than his physical reality of being cold.
He attempts a few deep breaths, but every exhale is a shaky shudder and no matter how many different methods he tries— counting his fingers, moving his arms up and down in a weird mimic of a wave (he couldn't stop laughing for five minutes after he'd learnt that one), slowly tapping his chest— none of them work.
Each attempt just makes him more frantic than the last and he ends up finding himself in the kitchen before his thoughts fully catch up to his body.
The kitchen is the room in the manor that Barry is the most familiar with.
It'd taken him weeks to fully trust that he was allowed in there, but every time he'd visited it he'd find a new favourite snack of his, and eventually he'd come to realise that Bruce had left them there on purpose.
Alfred had also repeatedly told Barry that he's welcome to anything in the kitchen, and had on more than one occasion told Barry to follow him there and given him a freshly baked batch of cookies.
Barry has since learned that oatmeal raisin cookies fucking slap when they're homemade. And also cranberry orange scones. God, honestly Barry loves any homemade baked goods.
But yes. It's 3:47 am when Barry makes himself a cup of tea. He'd never been a big tea drinker growing up, coffee being much more useful as a stimulant on those long nights-turned-into-days in college. Alfred's changed that though. Alfred's made a habit of making them all a pot of tea after a fight or patrol or during a League meeting and Barry's come to find it very comforting.
It helps stave off the cold of the manor when Barry's forced to stay still for hours at a time. It also gives his hands something to do, which is another bonus for being stuck in a League meeting.
There are also a lot of different kinds of tea. Barry had thought that there was just black and green. Barry didn't even know that there were different kinds of black and green tea.
Recently Barry's been super enjoying a black cherry tea that comes in a variety pack. Alfred always puts in the perfect amount of honey in it. And that was another thing. Tea with honey is a game changer. It's shocking how much it changes the taste.
Barry's still trying to find the balance himself of how much is too much or too little.
He's in the middle of debating whether or not to add another heaping spoonful when he hears a voice speak. "Careful there, you might summon an army of bees."
Barry jumps, dropping the spoon and it makes a sharp noise as it clatters against the mug. He turns around and sees Bruce standing in the entrance to the kitchen, appearing to be mostly straight faced but Barry can see the edge of his lip curled up in amusement. "B-bruce! What are you doing here?"
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What am I doing in my own kitchen?"
Barry's face scrunches up and he fights back a huff. "You know what I mean. I thought you'd be in the Batcave at this time of night."
"I was." Bruce sobers, looking deep in thought, and Barry feels off-kilter, not quite sure how to read him. Before Barry can say anything though, he changes the subject. "What's the tea for?"
"What?" Barry asks, not quite following his train of thought, before looking down at the mug. Oh, right. "Drinking?"
Bruce's lips flatten. "You know what I mean."
Barry does. Barry knows what Bruce is actually asking him but—
He doesn't want Bruce to think he can't handle this job. If Bruce finds out just how shaken he gets after a fight, he might stop trusting Barry out on the job, and Barry can't have that. This job is the first time he's... belonged somewhere. And sure, he's still definitely an outsider in the group but. At least he's a part of it.
“I was cold,” Barry answers, and it’s the only way he knows how to lie. Say some version of the truth, deflect anything else. He’s always been too anxious about lying outright, has made himself into a fool running his mouth in circles, but this, this is familiar territory.
Unfortunately for him, he’s speaking to the world’s greatest detective.
“Barry,” Bruce starts, and he’s stepping into the kitchen and Barry realises just how trapped he is in here.
Panic fills his inside and he can feel his skin itch as the urge to enter the speedforce calls him. He shakes his head, fighting it off. “Bruce, it’s fine, seriously. I promise I’m fine.”
Bruce pauses where he was stepping forward, and moves to lean against the fridge, leaving Barry space to leave if he wants to and he breathes a little easier. “It’s okay to not be fine.”
Barry whips his head to stare at Bruce, eyes leaving from where they’d been glued to the kitchen entrance. “Is this a trick because the last time Diana tried to ask if you were okay you stormed out of the room and ended the meeting early.”
Barry shuts his mouth quickly. Oh, he did not mean to say that aloud.
Bruce, however, laughs. He actually full-blown not just a huff but an actual chuckle laughs. The smile on his face seems genuine when he says, “It’s not a trick question. I know I’m not the best role model for… emotions, but I want you to know Barry, that you can come to me, for anything. This job weighs on you, in more ways than one. You’ll be a detriment to yourself if you try to keep it all buried inside.”
Barry bites his lip, not quite sure how to respond. He really does think getting to talk about what happened would help. He’s found that talking is a good outlet. It gets all the thoughts that bounce rapidly in his head a space to go, and he can sleep a little easier with his head calmer.
He finds it hard to trust that Bruce is telling the truth. Not that he thinks he’s a liar— It’s just. He has much more important things to do than deal with Barry right now. Barry already feels bad about taking up this much of his time.
“It’s okay, Bruce.” Barry tries again, biting any other words that try to escape.
“Okay, you don’t have to talk about it.” Bruce answers, and he seems genuine. Barry feels a bit of the tension releasing, even if he wishes he could just tell Bruce all the thoughts in his head.
The two fall into an awkward silence, Barry not quite wanting to leave, but also not knowing what to say for once in his life. He remembers the tea he’d been making, and picks it up, sipping it as quietly as he can. It’s just under the right amount of honey, but he doesn’t want to add anymore with Bruce staring at him, so he continues to drink it as is.
He thinks he should say something. Right?
He looks back up to see Bruce staring, deep in thought.
Maybe… he shouldn’t. Bruce is normally quiet. He’s content with silence. Maybe to him this is just a comfortable amiable silence right now and not at all the awkward tension filled space that Barry’s experiencing. To be fair, any silence is awkward silence to Barry. Especially ones at 4:01 am in a kitchen where only one of the two occupants is consuming something. Seriously, does Bruce ever eat? Or drink water? Barry’s pretty sure he’s seen him drink coffee, but that can’t be sustainable for long. Barry knows this from personal experience. Although how applicable is his personal experience? He’s a speedster so obviously his body works differently from others, but he’s pretty sure he knows drinking only coffee is bad from before he got struck by lightning and—
“Barry.” Bruce speaks again, and Barry looks up from where he’d gone back to staring at his tea. He’s not sure what Bruce is going to say this time and it puts him on edge. He doesn’t know how to prepare his next answer.
“Do you…do you want a hug?” Bruce asks when it’s clear that Barry isn’t going to reply and—
“What? ” Barry says incredulously. He has—not once—seen Bruce hug anyone . Not even any of the small children they’ve saved before. He’ll accept their hugs of course, but he won’t reciprocate. He… Barry’s pretty sure he’s blue screening. No, not even. He’s green screening . Or both actually. Barry knows his metaphor has now become inaccurate, but that’s just a point to how much his brain is breaking.
“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but it’s clear you’re still shaken and… I know I’m not the most approachable but I used to…” Bruce pauses, swallowing hard and Barry is curious as to what could cause the Batman to act so shaken as he is. “I used to know someone, someone close, who said hugs helped. This is your one and only offer though and if you tell anyone, being kicked off the League will be the least of your problems.”
And Barry… Barry wants it. Barry wants a hug more badly than maybe anything else in his life (besides his father’s declared innocence). And while he doesn’t trust that this isn’t too much to ask for, he can trust that he’s never once before heard Bruce offer this. And he can’t imagine him ever offering it if he didn’t mean it.
As if to further his point, Bruce opens his arms and Barry—
Barry is tired and Barry still feels cold despite his best efforts and Barry—
Barry really wants a hug.
He finds his way into Bruce’s arms in the next blink, and he buries himself into him, closing his eyes and squeezing. Bruce holds him, arms steady, and it really does feel like the rest of the world falls away from them. He feels safe here. He’s with the Batman . Nothing can get him here.
“I got you kid,” Bruce says, and his voice is soft, hushed, as this moment is just for the two of them.
Barry only squeezes back tighter, and he finally feels warm.