They sprang apart, Eobard skidding over cracked and crumbling concrete as he pushed himself away, crouching down into a defensive position. Barry stared back at him, poised and ready, a mirror image.
“What the hell?” Barry spat at him.
Eobard felt the corner of his lips curl, unamused. He was too tired for this, breathing in and out sharply against fatigue, but he’d be damned if he was the first to lay down arms. He eyed the boy warily, every tendon in his own body pulled and tense, waiting, waiting, as he gathered himself tightly.
He lived for moments like these—and he wished he didn’t. Something curdled over in his chest, curling blackly around the edges as he met Barry’s eyes. Years upon years upon years of this, and still they persisted...
Although the desperate, short-lived press of their bodies together, that was new.
“It wasn’t enough,” Barry was saying angrily, “for you to take everything I ever cared about, now you’re even—“
“I despise you,” Eobard said lightly, his throat burning, aching.
Barry hissed, “You think I need the reminder?”
“Your needs,” Eobard said, forcing calm, forcing amusement, “such as they are, are no longer my responsibil—“
“They never were, you unbelievable piece of—“
The sickly gleam of a white Martian body slammed into Barry, Eobard’s eyes tearing across the field as they followed him.