Chapter Text
Bart stares, and his younger self stares back. Was I ever really that tiny? he thinks with no small amount of astonishment. The answer, as it stands (or rather sits on the couch in front of him) is yes, you were that tiny. Baby him is short, barely hitting five two, with traces of baby fat in his cheeks and prominent collar bones beneath the fabric of his Kid Flash uniform. And then there's Jaime! Baby Jaime is just too cute, hair still short and limbs gawky and awkward. He's watching Bart with wide eyes and something akin to awe.
"Are you seeing this?" baby Jaime whispers to baby him. "Or am I finally going nuts from stress. No, shut up, we're not gonna kill him, por que dios!" his voice turns shrill and annoyed on the last sentence and Bart can't quite stifle the snort at classic Khaji's obvious solution.
"I'm seeing this," baby him confirms faintly, eyes tracing the scars visible on his forearms and legs with fear hiding behind a nervous grin.
He takes a step towards his past self and baby Jaime shifts so he's positioned in front of past him ever so slightly. Something in his chest aches fondly at the unconscious display of protectiveness. "Chillax," he says with a laugh, "Your safe. I'm not gonna hurt you."
They relax a fraction, but Jaime still keeps himself in between Bart and past him. God, this is going to get confusing really fast.
"You guys hungry?" he asks awkwardly, "I've got leftover empanadas I can heat up."
"Ooh, yes please," past him says, eyes lighting up.
"Hermano," baby Jaime says softly, "I don't know about this."
"Hey, he offered!" baby him retorts. "If they're anything like your mom's then they're the crashest food ever," he pauses, "After chicken whizzeez of course."
"Of course," baby Jaime says, equal parts exasperated and fond.
"I mean, they're your mom's recipe so..." Bart interjects. "I'm definitely nowhere near as good of a cook as she is, but I need some outside input considering Jaime is a bit of a biased test audience."
Baby Jaime's face does something complicated. "She gave you her recipe?" he asks dubiously.
"Yes?" he says, not sure what the problem is. "It's in my recipe booklet. I've got some from Joan too." For the sake of his past self, he doesn't mention that she left them to him in her will.
"Huh," baby Jaime says softly, "But she said she would only do that for the girl I... never mind." He shakes his head.
Bart zeroes in on that statement like a shark smelling blood. "She said she'd only do that for the girl you what?" he wheedles.
Baby Jaime flushes. "Forget it man."
Bart purses his lips. He's definitely asking his Jaime about this later. Speaking of his lovely boyfriend, he should be getting home soon.
As if summoned by his very thoughts, the front door opens and Jaime's voice echoes through the space, "Amor, I'm back!" He bustles in through the door, kissing Bart on the cheek briefly.
Baby Jaime flushes violently red. "What?" he squeaks, voice cracking as it pitches up several octaves.
Baby him is also bright red, staring at Jaime with eyes the size of dinner plates. "I also have many questions," he says squeakily, raising his hand.
His Jaime freezes. "Bart," he hisses, "Why is there a mini me and you on the couch?"
Bart shrugs. "I don't know they just kinda appeared."
"And you didn't think to, I don't know, text me?!" His tone bares a distinct resemblance to his younger self when he asks and it makes Bart laugh.
"That's it," baby Jaime yelps. "This isn't real. I'm having a mental breakdown, it's the only possible explanation for," he gestures at the two of them wildly, "All of this."
"Okay," Jaime says, clearly frazzled but trying to take control of the situation. He rakes a hand through his hair, "Okay. You two just stay there for now, I need to have a conversation with Bart." Baby him starts to get up. "Not you," he says, holding up a hand. "You," he grabs Bart by the wrist, "Come with me."
Jaime drags him into the hall. "This is so screwed," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dios me dé fuerzas, mini me is probably having a panic attack as we speak."
"Why?" Bart asks.
"Because," Jaime says, "That version of me doesn't know that he's bisexual yet."
Bart makes a face, "Oh. Yikes." He remembers Jaime's gay crisis. It wasn't pretty. It involved lots of crying and general catholic guilt and other unpleasantness.
"Yes, cariño, yikes." He swears under his breath.
"If it helps, I think you broke baby me's brain," he adds after a minute.
Jaime's brow creases with confusion, "What, how?"
"Sugar," he says, taking Jaime's face in his hands, "You're a verified smoke show."
Jaime laughs, a little strained but mostly genuine. "Jesus, you're a menace."
"I pride myself on it," he says, bopping him on the nose. He really wants to kiss him, but he thinks that might not be a great idea with the kids in the other room.
Jaime closes the gap and kisses him while he's debating with himself. He blinks up at him, surprised. "You looked like you needed it," his boyfriend explains.
"Um," baby him says. They both look up, putting some space between themselves so as not to freak him out. "Blue's kinda freaking out and I don't know how to help."
"Sorry," Jaime says, "I'll handle this." He walks back into the living room, leaving Bart alone with his younger self.
Jaime Reyes is having the weirdest goddamn day. First, a guy with a giant laser gun interrupts him and Bart hanging out in El Paso and then suddenly they both get zapped into someone's living room. Only, it turns out that someone is an older version of Bart and his older self is dating him, which he's not?? gay???
Except his older self called older Bart 'amor' and kissed his cheek and older Bart knows Ma's empanada recipe which is a family secret that she said she'd only share with his future wife, what does it even mean that Bart of all people knows that recipe?!
His breath is coming out in a whistle like Milagro when she has an asthma attack and his vision is swimming and he can't think straight (ha!).
<< You are in distress, Jaime Reyes >> the scarab intones << Preparing sonic canon >>
"No, don't-!"
A beam of plasma vaporizes the coffee table in front of him.
Bart 'eeps' and bolts, not that Jaime particularly blames him. Footsteps approach, different from Bart's light patter, and there's a hand on his shoulder.
"Match my breathing," his older self says, "In and out, like this." He sucks in a few whistling breaths and the hand squeezes his shoulder, "Good, that's good. You're doing great."
"I feel like I'm going insane," he gasps.
"That's fair," his older self chuckles. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"I don't know," he mumbles. "I'm super confused about pretty much everything going on with you and-" he shakes his head. "I'm straight," he insists, voice cracking.
He can't be gay. He just can't.
"Bisexual, actually," his older self says. He jolts, realizing he spoke that thought aloud
"Mom and Dad are gonna hate me," he wails. What if they kick him out? What's he going to do then? His breathing is all erratic again.
"Hey," older him snaps his fingers, "Mírame." He looks up, scrubbing at his face. "They won't hate you. They aren't going to kick you out or any of the other terrible things you're thinking right now. They love you. Trust me, I've been where you are right now, had this exact freak out. You're fine. It's all gonna be fine."
He takes several more deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "Sorry," he croaks after he gets his breathing under control.
"It's no big deal," older him waves away his concern, "I've gotten pretty good at talking people down from panic attacks after knowing Bart for so long."
Jaime jolts. What the hell does that mean? Does Bart get panic attacks?
"I probably shouldn't have said that," older him amends, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. It's something he does a lot and it's brain-breakingly weird to see it from the outside. "He's been through a lot," he says in lieu of an explanation. He looks at Jaime. "But then you know that already."
"Yeah," Jaime looks towards the hall where Bart's disappeared. Except he doesn't really, because Bart won't tell him what's wrong. It makes him feel queasy and guilty and awful to wonder about. "I just wish he'd talk to me about that stuff, is all."
"He will," older him says. "That's how we got where we are now."
Jaime squints skeptically at him, "By talking?"
"A couple of breakdowns too."
He considers this, "Hm."
"Pro tip, any guy you meet named Brion is an obnoxious dickhead with daddy issues and you shouldn't leave him and Bart alone together at a party."
"Uh, okay," Jaime says, not quite following. Out of the corner of his eye he sees both Barts emerge from the hallway. His breath catches in his throat.
Objectively, he can acknowledge that older Bart is an attractive guy. His hair is longer, tied back in a little pigtail that's fighting a losing battle to contain the sheer mass of his coppery hair. He looks more comfortable in his skin than Jaime's Bart, more at ease. He's got more scars than his Bart too, long surgical ones running up his forearms and legs to disappear under his clothes. And god he got tall, taller than older Jaime.
"I'm gonna get baby me some clothes," older Bart says with a dazzling grin.
"Sounds good," older him agrees. He turns back to Jaime, "Actually, do you want something to throw on?"
Jaime nods.
"I'm sure we can find something that'll fit you."
Bart stares at his older self's back as he rummages through the dresser. They're in the bedroom. As in, the singular bedroom their older counterparts share because they're a couple. He didn't think he'd get to have something like this, not after everything he's done. He looks at the little room, with its trinkets and cozy bed half-made and medical textbooks stacked in the corner and a bucket of laundry waiting to be folded and all he can think of is how fucking badly he wants this. It's absurd, but he's jealous of himself.
He licks his lips, dry and cracked from the El Paso heat. "Does he know?"
Older him stills. "Does who know what?"
"Your Jaime. Does he know...?" Know that we're broken, damaged goods, a fucking whore?
Older him turns around. "Yes, he knows." His eyes are gentle. It hurts.
"And he still," he twists the bedspread between anxious fingers and his voice fails him. "He still wants us around?"
Older him quirks his lips, "I know. I couldn't believe it either, but he does."
He hands him some clothes, an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants with octopuses on them. Bart takes them. They smell like lavender detergent.
He tilts his head and blows out a breath, bangs fluttering. "It wasn't your fault y'know."
"I know," he snaps defensively. He's lying. Both of them are. It was his fault and they both know it.
"It was not your fault Bart," older him repeats insistently. "It's not your fault. Nothing that happened to you was your fault."
Bart shudders, choking on a sob. "Don't say that. Not you."
Older him looks him dead in the eyes a repeats himself once more, "It's not your fault."
He breaks down.
<< The Impulse is crying >> Khaji Da reports, surprising him as he's reheating the empanadas Bart made last night.
"Perdone, ¿qué?" he mutters. Khaji hasn't called Bart 'the Impulse' in years.
<< The smaller one. He is crying >>
Jaime abandons the food and pokes his head into the bedroom. "Everything ok-" the question dies on his lips. Bart, his Bart, has his younger self wrapped in a tight hug as he sobs violently.
He's so taken aback that he doesn't notice his younger self run up behind him. "What did you do?!" he snaps accusingly.
"Jaime?" past Bart croaks.
"Yeah, guapardo, I'm right here," past him says, pushing his way into the bedroom.
Past Bart makes a strangled noise like a wounded animal and throws himself at past Jaime, who catches him in a hug and lowers them to the floor. It makes his chest go tight, seeing any version of Bart so clearly in pain, and when he looks at his Bart he sees that he's on the verge of breaking down himself.
"Ven aquí," Jaime says gently, opening his arms for Bart to come to him. Bart sidesteps the kids and practically collapses into his arms.
Jaime guides Bart out of the bedroom and sits them both down on the couch, holding his close as he sniffles, face buried in Jaime's neck. He rubs his back, "Shh, shh, shh, let it out. I'm right here." He kisses the crown of his head and rocks them back and forth.
"Ugh," Bart says, pulling back and wiping his eyes. "Crying sucks ass."
"What happened?" Jaime asks.
"He asked me if you knew," Bart says, playing with Jaime's hair absently. Jaime inhales sharply. "And I told him yes, you knew about the," his voice stutters, "Sexual abuse, and that it wasn't his fault. That it wasn't my fault."
Jaime hums, squeezing his arm. "You're right. It wasn't your fault."
He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Y'know the worst thing? I rationalized it away for years, but as soon as I saw him it hit me that, fuck, I was a kid. A child. How could anyone-?" His voice breaks.
It's all things that Jaime's thought and said over the years, but it's huge that Bart's acknowledging it for what it was. "I'm sorry," he says. Because there's really nothing else he can say.
Bart turns his head and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss. "I love you," he breathes, "So fucking much."
"Yo también te quiero," he says back.