Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

February 29th, 1976

The night sky is beautiful in the countryside- compared to the flat expanse of gray in a modern city, the starlit expanse visible from Smallville is truly awe-inspiring.

Of course, it's February 29th, so Jay's not watching the sky purely to see how pretty it is. After all, the stars come out every night and he's lived here since 1945(well, technically 1965, since that’s when he looped in, but…)

No, he's watching for shooting stars- and one shooting star in specific. Clark Kent's age and exact birthday is somewhat variable between loops, but since he most often arrives on February 29th, every leap day Jay spends the night sitting on his front porch with binoculars aimed at the sky above his neighbors' farm just to make sure he got to the right place and that the Kents actually manage to adopt him.

The snow is beginning to melt, though it's still cold enough for it to freeze into hard sheets at night. Occasionally, a gentle breeze makes the windchimes hanging from the old oak in the front garden chime softly, but otherwise the night air is still and silent.

Inside the house, Barry fusses, unable to sleep through the night even with Joan doing her best to get them to sleep.

Jay hopes he'll loop in soon(or at all, to be completely honest)- it's a pain dealing with an eleven-month-old speedster infant with none of their adult memories, even more so than dealing with an eleven-month-old human infant.

(He's still not entirely sure how Barry keeps getting into the chicken coop. It’s not like the chickens have hands to open the door with.)

Jay scans the sky for motion, and grins when he spots a shooting star in-bound for the Kents' field- one glowing due to heat shielding on a spaceship rather than fiery ablation of a chunk of rock and ice. The Kryptonian make of the spaceship(well, escape pod) is clearly visible, at least to someone familiar with Kryptonian tech.

Technically, getting that good a look at a shooting star that far away is not possible with 20th-century binoculars, but easily done with the set he's using, which are 25th-century military-issue scout binoculars altered to look like something made in 1960(look, intentional time travel is quite literally as easy as taking a walk for speedsters, unintentional time travel a regular occurence, and he has a loop pocket for a reason).

Jay quickly calculates the exact trajectory of the pod, slings the binoculars around his neck and flashes over to where it fell. His footsteps make no mark in the snow, not with the Speed Force lightening his steps to the point where he could probably stand on open water without issue.

The pod is intact, the heat shielding damaged but no more than intended. Inside, the wailing of a suddenly-woken baby and the hum of machinery pours from the vents, accompanied by the sizzling of melting snow.

Clark's presence and living status confirmed, Jay flashes back home, dumps his jacket and boots in roughly the right places and takes Barry from Joan.

"He's here." he informs his wife. Joan nods tiredly and makes her way towards their bedroom.

Jay tucks Barry to his chest and starts to purr, the soft, deep rumble of his voice and the humming of his heartbeat hopefully lulling Barry to sleep. He's been trying to get Barry to fall asleep with just Joan, but apparently he's too young to fall asleep to a human parent’s heartbeat and voice.

Tiny fists cling to the collar of his shirt, a few sleepy, largely ultrasonic chirps escaping Barry's lips as his eyes flutter shut. Jay smiles fondly and chirps back, urging him to sleep.

Jay follows Joan into their bedroom, settling in on the edge of their nest. Jay's always been more conservative than Barry with his nests(which may come from growing up in the 30s and 40s or might just be the fact that he doesn't have two to four partners and three children) so it's still vaguely recognizable as a human bed rather than something closer to a pillow fort.

If Barry was human, it would probably be a good idea to put them in their own crib. Thankfully for Jay's sanity, speedster babies don't suffer SIDS and easily fall asleep in the presence of a speedster parent, so they can just share a nest.

Jay leans up against Joan, tucks a blanket over himself and settles Barry against his chest for the night. 

March 2nd, 1976

“Did you hear? The Kents got a new baby, and they didn’t invite anyone to the shower! No one even knew Mrs. Kent was pregnant.” Mrs. Gallagher stage-whispers, like the news isn’t the talk of the town at the moment.

Joan nods. “Oh, I’ve heard. But really, is it that big of a deal? Let them have some privacy with their new baby. Poor thing’s adopted, after all.”

“Really?” Mrs. Gallagher blinks. “I’ve heard nothing of the sort.”

Joan leans in. “Just between you and me, they’ve been planning it for a while. Jay saw them driving to the city on the 29th- you know he likes his night air.”

Now, of course, both of them know that this definitely isn’t going to stay between the two of them. That’s just a rule of small town gossip.

But as the direct neighbor of the Kents, Joan is one of the highest authorities on the matter, and no one can really contradict her. 

The Langs, the Kents’ other road-ward neighbors, don’t have a habit of staying out late on winter nights, and they wouldn’t have seen the Kents if they were driving towards Central City rather than Smallville.

Joan can’t do much to quell the rumors entirely, but she can sure change them.

Satisfied, Mrs. Gallagher nods, and both of them continue on their respective ways. The addition to the rumors will be all over town by sunset.

March 6th, 1976

Jay eyes the setting sun warily, hunting rifle slung on his back and knife sheathed on his hip as he paces the bounds of his farm in eerie silence. He can feel the telltale ripples of an angular intrusion on the horizon, and the silence means it’s already close.

While nothing will be able to exist comfortably or come through in full darkness or daylight, there’s still a good 53 minutes or so of civil twilight every March night, where it’s still bright enough to read by sunlight yet the sun has already dipped below the horizon.

Angular intrusions are a problem- while the various Many-Angled Predators generally leave healthy adult speedsters alone unless provoked, they’re perfectly happy to go after speedster children, lightning-bonded humans or severely ill or injured adult speedsters.

“We arrive. We fly. We hunt. We know the child is here.” comes the ululating radio-static whisper on the wind. “Give us our prey, Ever-Curved One.”

“Bugger off! Barry’s not yours!” Jay shouts, voice muffled by the sound-swallowing effect of the intrusion.

He scans the sky for the source of the voice, tilting his head slowly to localize the sound as he unslings and loads his rifle.

Finally, he spots the distortion of the Many-Angled Vulture’s passage, then fires a single shot into the middle distance of the Vulture’s wake. The muzzle flare lights up the air, but the only sound is a faint, groaning crackle like distant artillery through fog.

With a tortured squawk like breaking china, the Vulture cracks open and falls out of the material plane. The bullet won’t be enough to properly kill it- Jay’s shot enough of them to know that- but it shows that he means business.

There’s a ripple in reality as a second Vulture swoops down behind him, and Jay turns and slams the butt of his gun into its “face” at high speeds. 

Metacrystal flesh cracks and splinters under the high-speed impact, and Jay mentally counts the minutes until full dusk as he transfers his rifle into a one-handed grip, draws his knife and stabs it into the Vulture’s core.

There’s a shriek like a thousand crystal glasses shattering mixed with tortured birdsong, and the now-dead Vulture dissipates into a glittering mist of clear crystal flakes, largely indistinguishable from the snow on the ground.

Jay twists around, switches weapons again and fires a second shot at a third Vulture, clipping its wing and sending it crashing into the snow. A third shot shatters its core, leaving another crystalline snowdrift on the still-frozen earth.

He’s got one bullet left in the chamber and one more magazine in his physical pocket, but judging by the way the ripples are slowing and the sound of the wind is beginning to return, he won’t need to use them.

April 23rd, 1976

If Barry was a 13-month-old human baby, they would be barely capable of walking without the support of furniture.

Unfortunately, they're a 13-month-old speedster, so they're fully capable of running without the support of furniture, and faster than the average human adult woman can run at that.

If Jay was here, it would be easy to keep track of them. Unfortunately, it’s corn planting season and the last frost seems to be early this winter, so Jay has to stay out all day to make sure everything gets planted on time.

Joan knows what to look for to find a moving speedster(especially one as young as Barry), but that doesn’t really help in catching them, or keeping them from getting into the chicken coop.

Barry really likes the chickens, and the chickens like them just as much, so whenever Joan leaves them unattended, they often break into the chicken coop. (Or the pantry, because they haven’t quite figured out how to ask for food yet.)

At first she and Jay were confused how he was getting in, but apparently Barry figured out how to open the chicken door and squish themself through it.

Unfortunately, Joan also has to do the laundry today. By the time she’s done fiddling with the machine, and cursing outdated-in-the-70s technology, Barry is no longer in the living room and nowhere to be found.

Joan sighs as the machine finally starts and makes her way outside. It was stupid of her to think Barry would be distracted by their toys for more than a minute or so, but that’s what she gets for making assumptions.

She finds one chicken(Cheryl to be specific) pecking around at the dirt in the front yard. There’s no sign of any of the other chickens, which are presumably still in their coop- Cheryl has always not minded the cold as much as her fellow hens, and it’s still April.

The coop, however, does not contain Barry, just one black-and-white-barred hen at the waterer(probably either Ethel or Melanie). Joan pokes around in the nest boxes and only finds four grumpy and slightly broody hens, and no Barry.

Joan momentarily considers the odds that Barry can climb over fences or open gates at their age, then groans to herself as she realizes that they’re decently high.

She steps back outside the coop, hoping that the chickens won’t be too broody, and breathes a sigh of relief as Barry comes running up to her.

She promptly chokes when she sees what Barry’s dragging behind them.

“Puppy!” Barry exclaims, setting down what is undeniably a young fox.

“Barry, that is not a puppy. That is a fox. It is a wild animal.” Joan says firmly, eyeing the fox as it gets to its feet, dizzily turns around in a circle, and thankfully runs away without biting or scratching anyone or going after the chickens. “Do not follow it.”

Barry blinks at her in sheer confusion. Joan’s pretty sure they chirped, judging by the movements of their throat and lips, but it’s too high-pitched for her to hear it.

As the fox darts away, Cheryl squawks in panic, darts forward and hops onto Barry’s head. Barry stumbles back, then giggles and reaches up to pat the chicken.

Honestly, this isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. The Many-Angled Vultures could have come back, for one.

September 1st, 1980

Jay wasn’t really expecting Eobard to show up while Barry was a kid, given that Jay, unlike Henry, is a speedster, and he’d notice any funny business, but he was prepared for an adult Eobard either way.

He was not prepared to find a five-year-old Eobard in his chicken coop(which honestly explains a few things), especially since Eobard is being perfectly polite and civil, at least by his usual standards.

“...Why are you five?” Jay asks, gesturing to Eobard’s…well, everything.

Eobard huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m five cause Barry’s five, idiot. We’re Reverses. Two sides of one mirror. ”

Jay massages his eyes. “What am I supposed to do with you…?”

“If you hurt me I’m taking Barry and running away forever.” Eobard warns, Negative Speed Force flaring around him. “I will bite you.”

Jay looks down at the visibly-nervous(despite his attempts to hide it) five-year-old. “Let me rephrase that. How am I going to explain to the town that Barry has a twin brother when they very definitely didn’t before now?”

Eobard blinks. “...You’re just going to adopt me that easily?”

“Kid, I’m not stupid. Barry likes you and definitely knows you’ve been hiding in here given how much they like visiting the chickens, you can’t keep someone out of their Reverse’s life, and you’ve been perfectly civil this entire time. I’d say it’s better for everyone if you end up as Barry’s brother rather than their enemy.” Jay gestures to the road leading to Smallville. “So, how are we going to angle this?”

“I look like Barry’s reflection in the mirror. It’s perfectly reasonable that nobody would be able to tell us apart, and Barry hasn’t really interacted with many people aside from you and Joan.” Eobard points out. “Just fake and backdate my paperwork, then claim that I’ve always been there in the background and pretend to be surprised that they forgot about me “again” whenever someone draws attention to it.”

“That’s a surprisingly good plan for a five-year-old.” Jay bends down to look Eobard in the eye. “Just one more question- where’d you come from?”

Eobard pauses, thinking it over. “...I’m not sure. I don’t remember being a baby or living anywhere else, but I’ve been here for at least four years.”

Hm. Given how Barry’s a child of the Speed Force in this loop, it’s possible that they and Eobard really are twins. 

Still, the exact nature of their relationship is largely irrelevant. Unless they encounter a really pedantic truth spell some time in the future, they’re still twins as far as everyone(including them) is concerned, even if they aren’t biologically.

May 15, 1983

Barry blinks awake in the morning sunlight, and immediately blinks for an entirely different reason.

Namely, the fact that the last loop ended just after they tripped on that rock(which seems to happen a lot for some reason) and they're now about eight years old.

They're also definitely in a variant loop- even with their loop memories still just out of reach, he can tell that they're not in either of the houses they usually live in at age eight, and that they're sleeping with another kid tucked against their chest.

Barry racks what portions of their loop memories they currently have access to for information on the other kid, and blinks again at the result.

Apparently, Eobard is their twin brother in this loop, and they share a bed and bedroom. This isn’t the first time Eobard’s been their twin, but it’s always weird. 

(Especially with looping Eobard. They’ve had long enough to figure out that it’s natural for some loops to end up with Barry sprawled naked in Eobard’s nest and some with Eobard ripping Barry’s heart out of their chest, but sibling affection is not part of their usual dynamic.)

They ransack their loop memories a bit more, to try and figure out how crazy this variant is. It’s not too crazy, or too different from baseline, but it’s still pretty weird.

For one, Jay and Joan Garrick are their parents and they're legally Barry Garrick. 

For two, they live in Smallville, just up the road from the Kents’ farm.

For three, Clark is their childhood best friend, ever since they met in kindergarten, and yet somehow neither of them knew about the other’s powers.

Eobard suddenly jerks awake, blood-red lightning gathering around him for a moment as he rips his way out from under the covers, wraps his hands around Barry’s throat and pins them to the bed.

It’s a perfectly reasonable reaction, considering that the last thing he remembers would have been Barry killing him- two loops ago from Barry’s perspective, but fresh from Eobard’s.

Barry breathes a somewhat choked gasp of relief- it would be an absolute pain to hide their looper status from his twin brother, assuming they wouldn’t be found out immediately.

Parents, you can hide something from easily. Someone you sleep in the same bed as who’s always known everything about you well enough to impersonate you is not someone you can easily keep a secret from.

“...Do you mind if we don’t mention that to… Dad?” Eobard asks somewhat stiltedly, as he releases Barry.

“It’s fine, you didn’t have your loop memories.” Barry dismisses, rubbing their throat. “See, look, the bruise is already fading.”

Eobard grins widely. “Oh, I hoped you were my Barry.”

“Mm. Today’s a weekend, so Clark’s probably going to want to play with us, and he somehow doesn’t know that we have powers.”

Eobard blinks, reviewing his own loop memories. “...We’ve raced him multiple times, though. Both of us, on plenty of occasions. How did he not realize?”

“He’s fast enough and we’re still slow enough that he can still kind of keep up. We’re eight, and he’s a Kryptonian, remember?” Barry reminds him. “I’m more confused as to how our non-looping selves didn’t notice Clark’s other powers, or think there was something off with a human being able to keep pace with a speedster.”

Eobard considers that, then a slow smile spreads across his face. “We’re going to have so much fun with that, aren’t we?”

“We are.” Barry agrees. “Let’s see how far we can go without him figuring it out.”

Chapter Text

March 14, 1977

Nearly every family in Smallville sent presents, or at least a congratulatory card, for Barry’s second birthday. That’s just how it works in small towns- everyone knows everyone, and Joan’s sent presents for every other kid’s birthday.

Barry was rather disappointed by the lack of books sent by the other Smallvillians- Joan got him the 1977 Old Farmer’s Almanac and a dictionary and Jay got them several science fiction anthologies, a stack of 40s Green Lantern comics and the first two Dragonriders of Pern books, but it’s still apparently not enough.

They were also thoroughly unimpressed by many of the toys that were sent to them, even if they did like the Etch A Sketch.

“We’ll be sure to tell them that you want more books next year.” Joan promised. “They don’t know you as well as we do, and they don’t know how smart you are. In the meantime, just be thankful for the fact that all these nice people sent you gifts.”

Barry pouted, but they accepted it without much more protest.

May 17, 1977

You can’t really get much more hyper than an excited two-year-old speedster who got into last year’s peach jelly and decided to run away with it.

Jay’s not helping much, seeing as how he’s decided to chase Barry around instead of actually catching them. 

And yes, he’s intentionally letting Barry outpace him.

Barry’s two- their running speed tops out at about eighty miles per hour, while Jay’s an adult who can lap the planet in five minutes without breaking a sweat. (And he’s on the slow end for an adult speedster.)

There is no way that Barry could successfully evade him for fifteen minutes while they’re going in circles in an enclosed space, unless Jay was humoring them.

“Jay, just catch them already! They need a bath!” Joan calls, waving the bath sponge around for emphasis. (No, Jay can’t see her through the walls. He can still feel the motion.) “You can play later!”

There’s a hiss of static, then Barry shrieks like a startled electronic goose and Jay appears in front of her, holding a wiggling and jam-covered Barry firmly in his grip.

“No bath!” Barry wails. “I don’t wanna!”

“You’re going to be all sticky, and you don’t want sticky on all your stuff.” Joan replies firmly. “You’re taking a bath.”

Jay has to fight him out of his clothes and into the tub, with Joan standing at a safe distance from the flailing. (She’s a fragile human, after all, and a stray punch or kick from Barry, despite their young age, could easily break her bones.)

After he’s wrestled into the tub, Barry cries for a few seconds, then calms down and finds that the water in the tub is surprisingly interesting, especially when he’s splashing it onto the floor.

(Jay, unlike Barry, does not need to be prompted or wrestled to the ground to wash his hands and change his clothes, courtesy of being a mature adult. If only Barry would loop in sooner.)

August 21st, 1978

When you farm fruit, or even just own a single tree, you usually have way too much fruit to eat yourself. Martha knows that all too well, having an apple tree herself. 

The Garricks only have four peach trees(they used to have five, but the fifth got hit by lightning the day Barry was born), not enough to sell commercially, but still enough that they’re drowning in peaches by the end of June even with a constantly-hungry three-year-old in the house.

Even with the wonders of canning machines and modern stovetops, they still end up with more canned peaches and peach jam than they can use, and more raw peaches than they can process.

Smallville being a small town in Kansas, the solution to excess peaches is to turn up at your neighbor’s doorstep with a few baskets of various peach products.

Martha appreciates the thought. She really does, and she’s returned the favor plenty of times.

However, Clark is currently toddling around on the ceiling of the living room, and despite Martha’s attempts to get him down with a broom, he won’t come down.

Unfortunately, she can’t really get away with ignoring the knocking at the door for too long, not when she’s obviously still in the house, so she’ll just have to close the door behind her and hope that the Garricks don’t notice Clark while it’s open or ask to come inside.

Martha hands the broom to Jonathan with a pointed glance at Clark, and goes to answer the door, trying not to look as stressed as she actually is.

“Hey, Martha. I thought I’d bring some peaches and jam over- they’re fresh from the tree.” Jay Garrick greets once she’s through, balancing a cloth-covered wicker basket under each arm. He’s come alone this time, thankfully.

“Oh, thank you, Jay! I’ll bring some peach pie over later.” Martha replies cheerfully. (Maybe too cheerfully…)

Jay nods and carefully sets the baskets down on the porch. 

“Maybe let Clark have a few slices- he’s two now, and he’ll probably come running once he gets a whiff of the scent of ripe peaches.” he advises with a small chuckle. “Barry’s always trying to steal some.”

“I didn’t think of that.” Martha says, completely truthfully. She didn’t think of bribing him to come down.

“I’ll get out of your hair now.” Jay waves and starts walking back down the road, back to his own farm.

“See you soon!” Martha calls. (Okay, apparently she didn’t succeed in looking completely unstressed- but at least Jay didn’t ask to come into the house.)

February 28th, 1979

It’s Clark’s third birthday, and there’s not going to be a party.

The Kents justified it to the town with Clark not being old enough to really grasp the concept and the February snow, but Joan knows they’re really just worried about anyone seeing Clark floating around like a helium balloon.

Upon hearing that Clark wouldn’t get a party, Barry, with typically impeccable four-year-old logic, decided that this meant Clark needed a friend.

“No, Barry, you’re not going to run over there to talk to Clark.” Joan pinches the bridge of her nose. “There’s too much snow- you’ll freeze.”

It’s legitimately a major concern that they'll freeze to death in the snow. Speedsters are quite susceptible to the cold, and young ones even more than adults, with their small bodies and undeveloped cores.

“But Ma…!” Barry protests. “I wanna play with Clark! He’s gonna be so sad he didn’t get a party!”

“I’m not so sure about that. It’s not like he was expecting one.” Joan sighs. “He’s three, and he didn’t have first or second birthday parties either. His parents are probably celebrating with him on their own, like we did for your first and second birthdays.”

“Oh.” Barry considers that for a moment. “I guess I can send him a present, right?”

“Yes, you absolutely can.” Joan smiles. “Let’s try and find something he’d like, shall we?”

Barry ends up sending a hand-written card and one of the unwanted toy cars they got for their second birthday neatly packaged in its original box, which is more thought than Joan expected from a four-year-old. Then again, they're a speedster, and mentally precocious even if they weren't.

July 3rd, 1979

Lewis Lang absolutely needs to get better control of his cows. (Or maybe just sell them. At this point Jay’s not sure if a better fence would work.)

Either way, Jay’s tired of dealing with cows that don’t belong to him jumping the fence into his cornfields and trampling up the place.

It’s been a recurring problem for years, ever since the Langs moved in and bought up Old Man Sweener’s farm and cow/calf operation.

Frankly, the Langs are unqualified to deal with cows. Lewis Lang is an archaeologist, Sarah Lang is a city-born housewife, and Jay’s pretty sure they weren’t expecting the house to come with cows.

At least Jay’s a speedster, so he can just pick up the cows and move them back into the Langs’ pastures. 

The cows are generally quite confused and terrified by being moved, but that’s far less dangerous for Jay than it would be for a human.

(Cows are as dangerous as a forklift driven by a nearsighted and untrained operator that doesn’t speak your language and is afraid of their own shadow. You want to keep yourself in their line of sight, never approach them from behind and leave yourself room to maneuver, since a startled cow’s kick can crush your ribcage or skull like an egg.)

December 25th, 1980

"I hate this stupid holiday." Eobard grumbles, pouting in the darkest corner of the town square he can find.

It's still not that dark, with all of the festive lights and metallic tinsel decorating everything, but it's relatively free of people(except for Barry, who's allowed to sit next to him any time.)

"No, you just hate the cold and having to interact with people." Barry corrects.

Eobard huffs, but doesn't say anything. Barry's not exactly wrong- he's freezing even in several layers of winter clothes, and the hot chocolate and oven-warm potluck meals being handed out are more of a trick to get him close enough to be ambushed by the townsfolk than anything really helpful to stave off the cold.

Barry's lips quirk upwards. "It's not an ambush, Eobard."

"It is!" he protests. "I just want food, and then I'm ambushed by a random townsperson who wants to go on and on about how smart I am and how big I've grown and calls me by your name! Every time!"

"Give them time." Barry murmurs. "We're practically identical and it's only been three months."

Eobard huffs and crosses his arms. "I hate it."

Barry puts a hand on Eobard's shoulder, smiling brightly. "Come on. We'll get some food together. They have to at least try to get the right twin when there's two of us."

April 22nd, 1981

Even though he knew Clark should have developed super strength by age five, Jay still wasn't expecting to get a tractor thrown at him by a tantruming preschooler.

A moment of shock, and it's already too close to dodge reasonably. Without thinking, he lifts his hand, stills the flying vehicle's momentum and pushes gently in the other direction.

He hears the Kents' horrified gasps trail into shocked exclamations as they process that Jay's not dead, and the tractor has come to a gentle and yet utterly unnatural stop, barely an inch from his outstretched palm.

Jay sighs, and looks Martha Kent in the eye, letting his hand fall to his side.

If he had to reveal his powers, any of them, to anyone in Smallville, the Kents would always be his first choice, and he knows they'll keep his secret like he's kept theirs.

"I think we can agree that we both saw nothing." he says lightly. "For our children's sake."

Clark continues to scream, unwitting of what he could have done. (Humans are so fragile, so easily broken. Tractors can kill, even when they're on solid ground.)

Martha and Jonathan Kent exchange a glance with each other, and rush to calm their son from a safe distance.

On the patio, Joan takes a sip of her tea, only a momentary glance at the scene ahead of her.

May 15th, 1983

6:34 AM

Barry and Eobard agreed to wait until just after breakfast to break the news. They're both hungry, and it means Jay and Joan will be awake and in one place to hear it.

Breakfast turns out to be bacon, scrambled eggs and toast with peach jelly, absolutely delicious and in speedster-sized portions.

"Done so quickly?" Jay asks, once they're finished scarfing down their meals.

"Well, sue me, I just tripped on a rock and time travel always makes me hungry." Barry huffs.

Jay pauses for a moment, and glances over at where Eobard is scraping a few last quivering scraps of jelly off his plate. "Both of you?"

"Both of us." Eobard confirms. "Do the Kents know?"

"They've seen me use a little super strength. Other than that, no." Jay tilts his head. "Why, are you planning something?"

"Of course we are." Barry huffs. "Clark somehow hasn't noticed our powers, and I'd like to see how far we can get before he notices."

May 15, 1983

7:45 AM

Clark doesn’t have many friends, but he has two and that’s enough. 

His Ma says it’s fine to not have that many friends, as long as you have good friends, and so far the Garrick twins, who live just up the road from his house, are really good friends.

It’s actually kind of creepy how identical Eobard and Barry look, especially given their propensity for wearing identical or color-swapped outfits, but Clark likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at telling the difference by now. He’s known them for four years, after all.

It’s all in how they act, usually. Eobard is a lot more brash and competitive, pessimistic and quick to anger and Barry is a lot more polite, optimistic and empathetic.

They also have different hobbies- you can generally be assured that if there’s a single Garrick twin competing in any sort of sport or competition(especially an athletic one), it’s probably Eobard, and Eobard tends not to walk around with his nose in a giant book like Barry does all the time.

Apparently, they decided that wasn’t enough, given how they showed up at Clark’s house wearing leather dog collars with their names embroidered on them- yellow for Eobard and red for Barry. 

“...Where did you get those?” Clark can’t help but ask. That’s really good designer leather, and the dye is really vibrant. 

“I don’t know, Eobard, where did you get these?” Barry needles.

“I bought them off a mail order catalog. Limited supplies, custom orders only, really expensive.” Eobard looks over at Barry and smiles. “But absolutely worth it.”

“Yeah, no one’s ever going to mistake us for the same person ever again.” Barry teases, with an inexplicable note of sarcasm.

“Oh, don’t worry, we can always swap.” Eobard assures. Oh, so that’s where the sarcasm came from.

“Anyway, it’s a nice sunny Sunday, so race you to the river?” Barry cuts in, shifting from one foot to the other and then darting off back down the road.

Clark grins. “Oh, it’s on.” 

Clark’s never once managed to win a race against either of the twins, which is perfectly fair.

After all, they’re a year older than him, and unfairly athletic- even bookish Barry could probably make the running club as an afterthought if he had any inclination, and Eobard has half a dozen trophies already, having entered every competition he was eligible for within a fifty-mile radius and won first place in every single one.

Their tendency to race off without warning and give themselves a head start doesn't help.

Still, he’s gotten pretty close to winning more than once, and Clark's pretty sure he'll manage to beat them someday.

May 15, 1983

7:51 AM

Clark collapses on the grass as soon as the river’s in sight, panting like a dog to catch his breath. (In retrospect, it probably was a bad idea to challenge the Garrick twins to “best of seven” when he lost the first three rounds.)

The sun’s nice and warm, at least. He’s always liked the sun, and while the twins can never manage to lie still for more than a few minutes, Clark can sunbathe for hours without getting bored.

“You okay, Clark?” Barry leans down to examine Clark, a concerned look on their face. “You’re looking a little overheated.”

“It’s… fine…” Clark pants. “Just… need… to… catch… my breath…”

“Barry, he’ll be fine.” Eobard huffs. “He just misjudged his limits. He doesn’t have as much stamina as we do, not at this age at least.”

Barry sighs, then flops down on the grass next to Clark. “Wish I brought a book…”

“Just run and get one from home, idiot.” Eobard grumbles.