Chapter 1: “Unmake Me ..the flash into the oblivion"
Summary:
Barry Allen made one final choice: not to run faster, but to stop running.
To give the world the life it deserved—even if that meant erasing his own.
But you can't rip lightning from time without consequences.
And the Speed Force?
It never forgets its favorite child.
Chapter Text
---
The moment came quietly. No thunderclap, no burst of light.
Barry Allen stood alone in the Speed Lab, the hum of tech around him steady and oblivious to the weight of his decision. Screens blinked. Lightning crackled beneath his skin. His heart felt like it had already stopped, waiting for the world to catch up.
“Jay took Wally’s place,” he whispered to no one. “Again. Because of me. Always because of me.”
He was tired.
Not in the I-haven’t-slept-in-days way. Not even in the I-just-ran-through-time-again way. No, this was bone-deep. Cosmic. He was tired of trying to fix everything only to break it in a new shape. A cracked mug glued too many times. Eventually, even glue can’t hold back fate.
Savitar. Flashpoint. Eobard. The lives lost. The family shattered.
He looked at Gideon’s screen and pulled up a map of the timeline—fractured, forked, bleeding into itself. Glitches flickered. Entire universes blinking in and out of relevance. He stared at his name.
“Barry Allen – Primary Constant.”
But he wasn’t a constant.
He was the problem.
So he made the call.
---
“You’re going to do what?” the Speed Force, wearing his mother’s face, asked calmly.
Barry’s hands trembled, but his voice didn’t. “Erase myself. Not just from now. From all of it. Let me be the sacrifice. Let the world have peace.”
The Speed Force blinked at him, face unreadable.
“You are the lightning.”
“No,” Barry whispered. “I was just the spark.”
---
He ran.
Not into time. Not through dimensions.
He ran into oblivion.
And the Speed Force opened its arms.
---
March 14 – STAR Labs, Earth-1 (The New One)
Something was wrong.
Cisco sat at his console, fingers hovering over the keys, brows furrowed. Wally was joking with Jesse near the Cortex. Julian complained from the med bay. Iris was humming a song she couldn't remember learning. It was all normal.
But Cisco couldn’t breathe.
His chest hurt like someone had pressed a hand through it and squeezed. His eyes welled up and he hadn’t spoken yet today. Not really. No one noticed.
Except—
“Cisco?” Jesse asked gently.
He shook his head.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
He wasn’t. And he didn’t know why.
---
In the hidden archives of STAR Labs, a file appeared.
One word: “Barry.”
No one opened it. No one remembered writing it.
But on March 14, the air felt wrong.
Like it was grieving.
---
Speed Force
He walked.
Alone.
The Speed Force wrapped around him like a mother who had lost her child. It was warm. But it wasn’t comforting. It felt... sorry.
Barry didn't talk. There was no one to talk to. Just echoes. He sometimes screamed into the storm. The storm didn’t scream back. Sometimes it showed him visions:
Joe, smiling at a child who wasn’t him.
Iris kissing Eddie under golden streetlights.
Ronnie holding Caitlin’s hand during a calm dinner.
Cisco and Dante laughing on a rooftop.
Wally and Jesse running, lightning streaks in perfect harmony.
And Barry, always, watching.
Never part of it.
Never remembered.
---
“You miss them,” the Speed Force said.
Barry laughed—hoarse, cracked, something inhuman. “Every version of them.”
“You made this world.”
“I broke every one before it. This one... they deserve.”
“You suffer.”
“Good.”
The Speed Force paused. The storm above crackled silently.
“We remember you.”
Barry nodded.
“Someone has to.”
---
Chapter 2: “Reverberations
Summary:
March 14, 2017. The day Barry Allen should have been born.
The day a ghost cried through the walls of STAR Labs.
The team had defeated Savitar—or so they thought. But something still ached.
Like the universe itself had forgotten someone… vital.
And deep within the Speed Force, a boy with lightning in his soul sat on a bench, watching the life he gave up.
He didn’t cry.
He just… remembered.
Chapter Text
---
March 14, 2017 – STAR Labs
It started with a headache.
Cisco blinked hard at the monitor, rubbing his temple like he was trying to unscrew his own skull. Wally had been laughing two seconds ago, recounting how he beat Jesse to a save by two milliseconds, but now his voice trailed off. Jesse’s smile dropped.
“Anyone else feel like…” Wally waved vaguely. “Something’s off?”
“Define ‘off,’” Julian muttered, sipping a coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. “The reality-breaking kind or the interpersonal-awkward kind?”
“Both,” Caitlin said softly, eyes unfocused.
Everyone turned.
Joe walked in with a box of pastries. “Why does it feel like I just walked into a funeral?”
They didn’t know why they said it. Why they all felt it. Why every clock in the building was lagging by a second. Why the hum of the Cortex was just slightly out of tune today.
Why breathing felt wrong.
---
“I keep thinking I forgot something,” Iris said after a long silence. “Like… a birthday or a meeting or…”
She swallowed. “Someone.”
Eddie took her hand gently. “We’ve all been tense since Savitar.”
“Yeah, but…” Caitlin paused. “He never showed his face. We didn’t see who he was.”
“Maybe it’s better we didn’t,” Ronnie offered. “No need to see monsters.”
Cisco stared at the wall like it owed him answers. “I’ve vibed this place three times today,” he whispered. “I keep feeling... like someone’s missing.”
“Did someone take a vacation?” H.R asked, smiling—trying to. “I mean, could explain the melancholy.”
“No,” Harrison Wells said grimly, arms crossed. “It’s not someone missing. It’s someone erased.”
The room went quiet.
---
Speed Force – Central City Park (But Not)
Barry sat.
The sky above him was gray. Not the moody, thunderstorm kind—but pale, static gray. Like a dream someone forgot to finish coloring in.
He was still.
Navy shirt, black coat, black pants, scarf whispering around his neck like it was remembering wind. The cold wasn’t physical. It came from inside.
He could see them.
Using Temporal Sight, he watched them—his friends. His family. Smiling. Laughing, even. His heart clenched at Joe’s laugh. At Iris’s quiet smile. At Cisco making fun of Julian. At Eddie wiping a crumb off the corner of Iris’s mouth like they were still engaged. Like it was normal.
It was normal.
Because he never existed.
---
Barry Allen had never been born in this timeline. Nora and Henry had never had a child. Or maybe… they had, and lost him before he ever opened his eyes.
The multiverse was tricky that way.
Barry closed his eyes. The bench beneath him didn’t creak. Nothing moved in this world unless he moved it. But the ache in his chest? That was real.
That was earned.
He’d given this world peace. Given them back the people they'd lost. Fixed what his selfishness broke.
But this?
This was the cost.
---
Back in STAR Labs, no one spoke for a long while.
And then Iris whispered, “Why does it feel like I loved someone… and I can’t remember his name?”
Wally’s hand twitched. “I keep dreaming of lightning. But it’s not mine.”
Joe stared at his hands. “I keep making coffee for two in the mornings. Can’t figure out why.”
Harrison didn’t speak. He was staring at a file on a hidden terminal. One that just appeared.
B. Allen
No first name. No date. No records.
Just the ache.
---
In the Speed Force, Barry smiled weakly. Not a happy smile. The kind that hurt.
He whispered to himself. “Happy birthday, me.”
And the Speed Force wept with him.
---
Chapter 3: Old Ties Now Broken Into an Oblivion
Summary:
Everything is perfect. Too perfect.
Caitlin Snow cradles her newborn son beside a husband who never died. Iris and Eddie plan a wedding in the golden glow of domestic peace. Cisco shares jokes with Dante again. The lab is full of light, laughter, and life. Everyone has moved on. Everyone has healed.
But the air still feels wrong.
Like static before a storm.
In the Speed Force, Barry Allen has watched them thrive—for years. Years that were only weeks outside.
He should be happy.
But when you love people who no longer remember you, every perfect day is a curse.
Chapter Text
---
Central City – S.T.A.R. Labs Cortex – 10:46 AM
Caitlin’s laugh rang out like wind chimes.
Little Rowan Snow Raymond blinked up at her from his cocoon of blankets, all soft coos and twitchy hands. Ronnie sat beside her, watching their son like he hung the stars.
Cisco snapped a picture and sent it to the group chat titled: STAR FAM 4EVER (no evil twins allowed)
“Okay, hear me out,” Cisco said, “what if I make Rowan baby armor. Like—tiny freeze-resistant baby armor. With a cooling gel interior. Fashionable and functional.”
Julian nearly spit out his coffee. “He's two weeks old, Ramon.”
“Exactly! Prime age for custom gear. Start them young.”
“I will throw you out a window,” Caitlin deadpanned, but she was smiling.
Across the lab, Dante and Cisco had their bi-weekly "bro dinner" spread out on a collapsible table. Pasta, garlic bread, and a war over who cooked it better.
Iris and Eddie strolled in late, hand-in-hand, glowing like a Hallmark movie. Iris’ engagement ring glittered as she high-fived Wally mid-stride.
Jesse sat on the railing, munching chips with Wally beside her, both watching as Leonard and Mick argued over the modifications to their latest crime-turned-science invention: a laser-powered meat slicer.
Joe arrived with music on his phone, dancing terribly but with full commitment. H.R. twirled a pen and danced with him.
Harrison just shook his head, muttering about “children running a science facility.”
S.T.A.R. Labs had never been this full. This bright. This… healed.
Everything was good.
Everything was fine.
And yet—
No one could explain the weight behind their eyes when they woke up.
The way March 14 and 15 had felt like pressing on a bruise that wasn’t there.
The way Iris had stared at an old photo on her phone for twenty minutes and then deleted it without a word.
The way Wally flinched when someone said “run.”
---
The Speed Force – Nowhere, Everywhere – Years Later
Barry Allen had walked entire cities of memory.
He had climbed through a million forgotten conversations.
Sat beside shadows who wore the faces of people he loved.
He hadn’t aged. But God, he felt ancient.
Time was broken here. Or maybe he was.
He sat on a rooftop above the phantom version of Jitters. It wasn't real. None of this was. The buildings were empty props. The lights flickered when he thought about them too hard. The people were echoes. Casts. Dream logic wrapped in familiar skin.
He saw them.
His friends.
Living.
Without him.
Without knowing they were missing something.
He wrapped his trench coat tighter around himself, trying to hold the cold in. Or maybe out. Even the Speed Force wasn’t sure anymore.
For them, it had only been weeks. For Barry, it had been years.
He watched Caitlin hold her son. Ronnie kiss her temple. Cisco and Dante crack jokes. Iris beam at Eddie like she never loved anyone else. Joe dancing like nothing had ever gone wrong.
You wanted this, the Speed Force whispered once.
He did.
He did.
But the longer he watched… the more he wondered if he’d just made a wish on a monkey’s paw.
---
March 16 – S.T.A.R. Labs – 3:33 PM
Lisa Snart shot a confetti cannon into Cisco’s office and yelled, “Happy Unbirthday!”
“No more caffeine for her,” Mick grunted, chewing loudly on a sandwich.
Everyone laughed. Loud. Easy. Unburdened.
But somewhere between breaths, Iris paused. Just… paused.
Like she was waiting for someone to walk through the door.
Someone who never did.
“Hey, you okay?” Eddie asked gently.
She shook it off. “Yeah. Just a weird feeling.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.”
Cisco looked up from his blueprints.
“Anyone else feel like they’re part of someone else’s dream?”
Ronnie laughed. “Okay, buddy, lay off the sci-fi.”
But Caitlin looked up too.
And so did Joe.
And Jesse.
And Wally.
The laughter didn’t fade—it just hesitated.
Long enough for the truth to crack the air.
Just a little.
Just enough.
---
Chapter 4: "four Hours, Four Echoes”
Summary:
Barry asks the impossible—and gets it.
Four hours to walk among the living.
Four hours to witness joy he can't touch.
The Speed Force, wearing his mother's face and a 1950s ensemble, grants the wish… with rules. No interference. No contact. No breaking the illusion.
So Barry bleaches his hair, dons rollerblades, and rolls through Central City like a ghost in disguise.
Meanwhile, at STAR Labs, everything continues perfectly—almost.
But even perfection can crack when the past skates by the window.
Notes:
A short author note my lovely readers for Nora Allen I didn't want to go with original actress don't get me wrong I love her but Brenda strong who played Nora walker from 13 reasons why much fit the vibe
So if you have to imagine I'd suggest you search up Brenda strong
But if you don't like that then you don't have to imagine In
But it's my take on Nora Allen
Chapter Text
---
The Speed Force – Timeless Space, Now
Barry stared into the abyss.
Which, weirdly, looked like an empty diner booth with flickering neon and a mug of lukewarm coffee.
“Let me go back,” Barry said, his voice hoarse. “Just… to see them. I won’t interfere. I promise.”
He already knew the answer.
The Speed Force always said no.
Except today.
The woman across from him tilted her head—the face of his mother, Nora Allen, staring back at him beneath a wide-brimmed hat and pearl earrings like she’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie.
She sipped her coffee.
Then, softly:
“Four hours.”
Barry blinked. “W-What?”
“You may walk among the living for four hours. But no contact. No interference. You are not to remind them. Not to warn them. You are not you.”
Barry swallowed hard.
“And if I do?”
Her eyes flashed like lightning behind a smile too calm.
“Then we start over. From the very beginning. Again.”
The blood drained from his face.
He nodded.
“Okay. Deal.”
---
Central City – 9:32 AM
When a breach opens, people notice.
Security triggers. Satellites ping. STAR Labs systems groan with too much data.
So the breach didn’t open in STAR Labs.
It opened quietly.
In an alley behind an old record shop.
The Speed Force stepped out first, heels clicking neatly against the concrete. She wore a pale lavender dress that flared below the knees, a pearl necklace, gloves, and a sunhat with a soft veil. A walking memory of Nora Allen if she’d gone to brunch with Audrey Hepburn.
Barry followed, blinking against the sunlight.
His hair, now bleached blond, looked almost white under the sun. His blue eyes—no longer his usual warm hazel—were borrowed too. Dodger blue. Cold and sharp.
His clothes were simple. Hoodie. Rolled sleeves. Black jeans. A pair of rollerblades slung over his shoulder.
He grinned like it wasn’t breaking his heart.
“You’re really letting me do this?”
“For four hours.”
The Speed Force brushed imaginary dust off her skirt.
“Don’t run.”
“Got it.”
“No lightning.”
“Check.”
“No truth.”
Barry clipped on his rollerblades. “This is a bad disguise.”
She tilted her head.
“And yet, it’s yours.”
---
10:03 AM – Jitters
The Speed Force was already there, of course.
Sitting at a table with a small book in her gloved hands. Smiling politely at passersby. No one recognized her. No one even looked at her.
Barry skated slowly through the streets. He didn’t speed. He didn’t phase. He just… glided. Quiet and smiling. Like a boy who finally got to breathe fresh air.
He passed people who had once called him best friend, brother, son, love.
He passed Iris and Eddie exiting a florist shop, laughing about centerpieces.
He passed Joe, buying a new record to play at dinner tonight.
He passed Cisco, talking on the phone with Lisa about new parts for her “weather-controlled margarita cannon.”
They didn’t see him.
They didn’t feel him.
But something in Iris paused.
She looked back.
Eyes narrowed.
Like a dream nearly remembered.
But Eddie tugged her hand. “Hey, love. We’ll be late.”
She smiled and let it go.
---
Meanwhile: STAR Labs – Cortex
Caitlin was feeding Rowan with one hand and scribbling notes with the other. Ronnie hovered beside her, starry-eyed and hopelessly whipped.
Cisco was mid-rant about quantum microservers when the system pinged.
“Uh… hey, Harry?” Cisco squinted. “Did we authorize any breaches today?”
Harrison turned from his monitor. “No. Why?”
“There’s one active. But it’s not stable—it’s like it opened and refused to finish the connection.”
“Where?”
Cisco blinked. “Back alley behind Jazz Vinyls.”
Julian groaned from the couch. “That record shop with the eldritch cashier?”
H.R. popped a marshmallow in his mouth. “You mean Ted? Ted’s sweet. Bit toothy. But sweet.”
Wally and Jesse exchanged a look.
“Want me to check it out?” Wally offered.
“Nah. It’s not dangerous,” Cisco muttered. “It’s just… weird.”
“Everything’s weird,” Caitlin said with a tired smile. “That’s not news.”
But Jesse looked at the breach signature.
Frowned.
And muttered, “Why does it feel like deja vu?”
---
11:10 AM – Central City Park
Barry sat on a bench, scarf around his neck.
The Speed Force sat beside him, still Nora. Still smiling.
“You have three hours left.”
He watched a couple push a stroller nearby. Listened to a kid scream about a balloon. Felt the sun on his face.
He didn’t say anything.
But a tear slipped down anyway.
He couldn’t even wipe it.
---
Chapter 5: “A Taste of Ghosts”
Chapter Text
March 18, 2017 — 10:16 AM to 2:16 PM
(Four hours borrowed from forever)
---
The smell of coffee hit Barry like an old song.
Warm. Familiar. Bittersweet.
He held the paper cup with both hands like it might disappear.
The Speed Force didn’t order anything.
She sat across from him at the small outdoor table, legs crossed at the ankle, posture perfect in her lavender dress and wide-brimmed hat.
“I missed this,” Barry whispered, smiling into the steam.
“You say that every time you dream.”
“Dreams don’t taste like this,” he said, sipping and sighing dramatically. “Dreams don’t burn your tongue and make you regret nothing.”
The Speed Force smiled faintly. “You always were dramatic.”
“I learned it from the best.”
---
10:45 AM — The Walk
Barry didn’t skate this time.
He walked.
Every step felt louder than it should, like the city knew he didn’t belong. But it welcomed him anyway, just for a little while.
The Speed Force floated beside him, her heels never quite touching the ground.
She watched him like a parent watches a child visiting home after a long time—equal parts proud and dreading the goodbye.
First stop: the fountain outside Central High.
Where he kissed Iris for the first time.
Second: the alley near Keystone Boulevard.
Where he and Cisco once escaped a meta with nothing but a flashbang and a Nerf gun.
Third: the corner near Jitters.
Where Joe taught him how to tie a tie before prom.
He stopped often, never for long.
He didn’t cry.
But his smile got tighter.
More brittle.
---
11:37 AM — The Rooftop
STAR Labs loomed in the distance.
Barry didn’t go in. He couldn’t.
Instead, he stood on a rooftop across the street.
Just watching.
From here, he could see the Cortex windows.
He saw Caitlin laughing as Ronnie bounced Rowan gently on his lap.
Saw Cisco making exaggerated gestures as Lisa held up some glittery monstrosity.
Saw Jesse showing Wally something on her phone, both leaning too close to be “just friends.”
He saw Joe walk in with takeout. Julian groaned and tried to escape, but they pulled him back to the table.
It was everything he wanted for them.
And none of it was his.
“Why let me see this?” he asked, voice low.
The Speed Force didn’t answer right away.
She adjusted her gloves, brushing imaginary lint away.
“Because this is what you saved.”
---
12:20 PM — The Pier
Barry sat on a bench. His rollerblades rested beside him.
His blond hair glinted in the sun. His borrowed eyes stared out over the water.
“This is where Eddie asked me if I’d ever settle down,” he said suddenly.
The Speed Force arched a brow. “What did you say?”
“I told him I’d settle when I could stop running.”
A pause.
“And he said, ‘Then you’ll never settle.’”
He smiled softly. “Guess he was right.”
The water sparkled like time had paused to listen.
Then a seagull flew by and pooped on a tourist.
Barry laughed.
---
1:10 PM — The Playground
He wasn’t sure why he came here.
Maybe it was the sound of kids laughing.
Or maybe it was the swing.
That one swing.
He sat on it slowly.
It creaked under him, old and weather-worn.
“This is where I realized I wanted to be a hero,” he said.
The Speed Force leaned against the nearby tree, silent.
“I was nine. A kid fell and scraped his knee. I gave him my candy. Told him it made wounds heal faster.”
He laughed to himself.
“He cried more. But his mom smiled at me. And I thought: ‘If I can make one person feel better, even just one, that’s enough.’”
She tilted her head. “You’ve done more than that.”
“I wanted to do more.”
---
2:10 PM — The Street Corner
He stood at the intersection, the one where his mother died.
The Speed Force stood with him, her Nora-face soft with memory.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“No,” he said honestly. “But that’s never stopped me before.”
He pulled off the rollerblades, slung them over his shoulder.
“Did I do okay?”
She didn’t answer with words.
She stepped forward and gently, gently, smoothed his hair back—something only Nora would have done.
“You were the lightning, Barry,” she said, voice not hers but full of every moment they ever had. “And the lightning always leaves a mark.”
He nodded.
The breach opened behind them, quiet as breath.
Time to go.
But never exactly..she spoke up again and this time it was something else
"You've been seen"
Barry was quiet after hearing that he looked toward Jitters. A flicker of something—recognition? Love? Pain?
Then he turned his back to it all.
The breach still opened in silence
But of course she was done yet she had something left that had to be said now
Chapter 6: “Stars Don't Fade...They Just Burn”
Chapter Text
March 18, 2017 — 2:16 PM
---
Barry stood at the threshold of the breach, the weight of four hours of borrowed time pressing on him like invisible hands. His breath had slowed, but his heart kept hammering. The world behind him—the one he could never truly be a part of again—felt too heavy, like a promise he couldn’t keep.
The Speed Force watched him, her expression unreadable under the brim of her hat. He could sense the sadness wrapped around her like a familiar shawl, but there was something else there too. Something in the air between them—maybe it was hope? Or maybe it was just a trick of his own heart clinging to some last vestige of his old world.
“You don’t belong here,” she said, her voice full of that haunting, knowing calm. “Not now.”
Barry nodded. He knew that. He’d always known it. His life, his world, was a series of not nows stacked on top of each other.
“I didn’t belong before, either,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I just... I wanted to make it right. Make them proud.”
“You already did.”
He looked up, confused, and saw her looking at him like he was a piece of something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“The world needs you, Barry. It always has.”
Her gaze softened, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “But right now, there’s a star burning too bright for you to touch. You can’t have it yet. But one day...”
Barry’s heart skipped. "One day?" he repeated. There was no such thing as ‘one day.’ Not for him.
Her lips curved into a gentle, sad smile. “You’ll be the brightest one, Barry. When the time is right. But not now. Not yet.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavier than they should’ve been.
Barry swallowed. “You promise?”
She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with that expression of eternal knowing. Her form seemed to flicker for a split second, almost as if she were about to say something more, but then she pulled it back.
“Promise me this, Barry: You’ll find your way back. Not for them. For you. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
The breach behind him crackled, electric, ready.
She raised her hand, the air around them shivering with unseen power.
“But you have to go now.”
Her voice was quieter now. “This isn’t your time.”
---
Barry didn’t protest. He didn’t want to. He didn’t feel like fighting anymore. He just nodded.
As he stepped through the breach, feeling the hum of it pull him into the unknown, he glanced back once.
The Speed Force stood in the exact same place he had left her—silent, watching, waiting for a time she knew he couldn’t touch.
---
Chapter 7: “Refractions Through Glass”
Summary:
March 16th, 10:47 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. – While the world turns peacefully, two men sit in Jitters and try to fill the same void with different words. But when they both see the same ghost, skating by with a dead woman on his arm, a truth neither wanted to voice crashes into them like the particle accelerator never stopped exploding.
Chapter Text
---
10:47 a.m. – Jitters, Central City
Julian Albert had arrived at exactly the time he always did—annoyingly punctual, needlessly proper, and absolutely vibrating with the energy of a man who’d screamed into a void and had it scream back in cursive.
He took his usual corner seat. Black tea. No sugar. One sigh that stretched across universes.
Then came Leonard Snart, wearing aviators indoors like a menace and ordering hot chocolate with extra whipped cream like he didn’t have ice in his veins. He sat across from Julian without asking.
“This seat taken?”
“It is now,” Julian muttered.
They didn’t speak for seven minutes.
And then it began.
---
11:04 a.m.
“You ever feel like someone’s watching you?” Leonard said, sipping from his obnoxious cup. “Not in the creepy way. More like… someone who used to be here. And shouldn’t be gone.”
Julian didn’t look up from his tea. “All the time. Feels like I forgot to lock my lab door, but the door’s never existed.”
Leonard’s brow raised. “Lab?”
Julian sighed. “I used to work at S.T.A.R. Labs. Briefly. Before I… well, before I left. There was someone else. I—he—” He cut himself off.
Leonard leaned in. “Let me guess. Sad eyes. Voice like an apology. Hero complex the size of the multiverse.”
Julian blinked. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what I called him. My ghost. Shows up in dreams like he forgot something in my apartment and never left.”
They stared at each other. Realization unfurled slowly.
11:11 a.m.
“Did he ever mention Nora Allen?” Julian asked suddenly, brow furrowed.
Leonard shook his head. “No. Why?”
“She was married to Henry Allen. He looked… exactly like Jay Garrick.”
Leonard paused. “Jay Garrick? The old Flash?”
“Mm. Henry and Nora had a son once. Died just an hour after he was born. Didn’t even get a name. They moved to Metropolis after. The Wests knew them well. Joe still sends Nora flowers every March.”
A long silence.
11:27 a.m.
Then it happened.
Julian turned to the window because something in his chest twisted hard—like time itself hiccuped.
And he saw him.
Bleach-blond hair. Blue eyes not quite blue. A black trench coat flaring as he rollerbladed—because of course he did—down the sidewalk. At his side?
A woman in a pearl-strung dress, soft gloves, and a face Julian would know from photographs alone.
Nora Allen.
He stood so fast he knocked his tea over.
Leonard caught the cup, eyes never leaving the window.
“...You see that?” he asked.
Julian didn’t answer.
Because outside, that ghost of theirs was laughing. Smiling.
Barry Allen.
Who shouldn’t exist.
---
12:13 p.m. – Central City Park
They followed.
Not closely. Just enough to confirm.
He was real. He was wrong. He looked younger. Off. But familiar like muscle memory.
Barry sat on a bench, sipping coffee like the world hadn’t moved without him. Like the grief hadn’t stitched into their skin.
The woman next to him—Speed Force wearing Nora’s face, though they didn't know—watched over him with a look only gods could wear.
Leonard whispered, “You ever kiss a memory and taste regret?”
Julian muttered, “You ever sleep next to someone and dream of a name they never had?”
---
1:36 p.m. – Alleyway Behind Jitters
They didn’t confront him. Not yet.
Instead, Leonard lit a cigarette. Julian glared but said nothing.
“He didn’t look happy,” Leonard murmured.
“He never was.”
“You ever wonder if… we weren’t supposed to forget him?”
Julian finally looked up. “I never forgot. I just convinced myself he never existed.”
Leonard dropped the cigarette. “Well. That’s one hell of a dead man.”
---
2:00 p.m. – The Speed Force Clock
Time was up.
Barry stood again.
The world dimmed, just slightly. Somewhere far off, a storm tried to form—but failed.
The Speed Force looked at him and said gently:
> “You’ve been seen.”
Barry looked toward Jitters. A flicker of something—recognition? Love? Pain?
Then he turned his back to it all.
The breach opened in silence.
He stepped through.
And the wind that followed tasted like longing. Like tea left unfinished. Like love shattered before it could ever be spoken.
---
Barry left and Julian and Leonard watched Julian of course had recorded the breach it was certainly related to the speed force
How did they know the speed force it's due to how many speedsters they dealt with and if this man before them was an enemy he had to be dealt with as well and yet he didn't feel like it one bit how could he ? Maybe it was just them
Chapter 8: “Ghost Signatures”
Summary:
March 16th, 2:00 p.m. – Something passed through Central City. It left no damage. No sound. Just a feeling. A memory with no name and a breach signature that shouldn’t exist. And for the first time in a long time, Leonard Snart speaks Russian when he’s afraid.
Chapter Text
---
2:01 p.m. – Jitters, Outside
Leonard stood in the street long after the breach had closed.
Julian finally looked away. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“…That wasn’t him.”
Julian didn’t ask who.
Because he already knew.
---
2:18 p.m. – S.T.A.R. Labs
The door opened with a hiss and a click. Inside, it was the same mess of brilliance and caffeine-fueled disaster it had always been.
Cisco was recalibrating breach sensors when they barged in like ghosts from a better-written reality.
HR Wells was balancing a pencil on his nose and drinking from a cup that said “#1 Idea Guy.” He looked up and grinned.
“Oh, look! It’s Captain Cold and his moody British boyfriend. What's the occasion—fashionably sad?”
Julian blinked. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.” said three versions of Wells in unison from different corners.
Harry Wells—Earth-2’s most aggressively competent dad—had just arrived with Jesse and narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”
Leonard shoved the tablet they borrowed from a tech kiosk onto the table. The breach’s visual replay flickered onto the main screen.
Cisco frowned. “Okay… that’s a breach.”
“No,” Julian said. “That’s the breach. Look at the frequency.”
Harry stepped forward, tapping on the console. “It’s not just a breach. That energy signature…” He leaned in. “It’s Speed Force. Pure. No interference. No residue. Like the original flow.”
HR leaned over Harry’s shoulder. “It’s elegant. Clean breach, tight spiral, and—wait. Is that Nora Allen?”
The screen froze.
Cisco squinted. “She’s… not technically in central city she's in metropolis .”
“She is in that,” Julian said softly.
“And who’s the guy with her?” HR asked, zooming in. “Bleach blonde. Tall. Pretty.”
Leonard whispered, “He looks like someone I knew. But I can’t…”
He faltered.
“I can’t remember him.”
---
2:42 p.m. – The Cortex
Caitlin arrived with medical files, a smoothie, and the general mood of someone constantly two minutes away from snapping.
She stared at the footage.
“That’s— That looks like Nora Allen. That can’t be. And the guy…”
Leonard suddenly muttered something sharp in Russian. His eyes wide.
Caitlin blinked. “What?”
“Он умер.”
“He died,” he said.
“Who died?”
Leonard didn’t answer.
Instead, he walked toward the window.
Harry stepped forward. “The Allen family—Henry and Nora—they had a son.”
Cisco frowned. “Yeah, Barry Allen. But—wait, that doesn’t check. Barry Allen didn’t exist. He died as an infant. No birth certificate. Just a death notice. Never even had a name.”
Caitlin’s breath caught. “Then why do I know that name?”
Julian muttered, “Why do we all know that name?”
---
3:05 p.m. – The Main Console
HR spun in a chair and tapped his mug. “Okay, not to be that guy—but this feels like a memory bomb. Like we’re all remembering the outline of someone, but no details.”
Cisco added, “Yeah, like that dream you wake up from and try to describe, but all you can say is: ‘It was important.’”
Harry nodded. “Memory suppression. High-grade. Quantum entanglement possibly woven through neural networks. Someone scrubbed him.”
Jesse looked at the screen again. “But why now? Why let us see him again?”
Caitlin said quietly, “Because maybe he needed to be seen.”
And on the screen, the ghost skated by again. Smiling. Like he never left.
---
3:18 p.m. – Back Room at S.T.A.R. Labs
Leonard sat with Julian in the dark.
He whispered, “I called him a ghost. But ghosts don’t make you miss them like this.”
Julian, after a moment, replied, “Maybe he was never gone. Maybe we were the ones who left.”
They didn’t speak after that.
---
Chapter 9: “The Shifting Light”
Chapter Text
---
The air in Central City seemed to hum with anticipation.
It was only a few days until Iris and Eddie’s wedding. The streets were lined with banners, the news had already begun reporting on it as a “celebration of love,” and the city was buzzing with energy. The heroes, from Team Flash to Team Arrow, were all gathered for the event, and yes—even John Constantine was going to make an appearance. But why? Well, God only knew that John had a knack for showing up just when things were about to go sideways.
And the Speed Force? Well, it knew what was coming. It always did.
The Speed Force had a strange way of weaving destiny, and today, it allowed Barry to go out again.
---
Jitters, 10:45 a.m.
Barry walked in.
He was dressed in a manner that would have made anyone who knew him blink twice: a black three-piece suit, so elegant it almost looked like a funeral attire, as if he were a goth widow who lost her fourth husband to the dancing plague. His black silk gloves, adorned with delicate lace patterns, peeked out from under the cuffs. His neck was draped with four rows of pearls, like a tragic and timeless figure.
He had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, casting shadows over his bleach blonde hair, which he’d used to blend in, to hide. It was a careful choice, like the rest of his appearance—a carefully constructed mask for someone who wasn’t sure if he was a ghost or a man who could be remembered.
The Speed Force, taking on the form of Nora Allen, was beside him. Her outfit was identical in every way—black dress, wide-brimmed hat, pearls—she even wore the same gloves and black heels. It was as if the two of them were reflections of a life that could have been, a life that could have been possible if the universe wasn’t constantly shifting beneath their feet.
They didn’t speak.
The hum of the world moved around them as if they were little more than shadows of what they were meant to be.
---
Jitters, 10:55 a.m.
Inside, things were chaotic in a familiar way.
Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart, Julian Albert, and Cisco Ramon were all at the counter, arguing over coffee—again. Their voices mixed in with the soft hum of the coffee machine, and the smell of fresh brews filled the air.
“Julian, I swear you never know how to get coffee right!” Cisco grinned, pushing a cup across the counter.
“Maybe because I don’t drink it like a maniac,” Julian quipped, leaning back in his seat with a scowl.
“I swear you two,” Lisa muttered, “If you didn’t fight like you were married, we might actually get some peace around here.”
Leonard rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if you guys didn’t have such an amazing track record of making a scene.”
Barry entered without a sound, and the instant his foot crossed the threshold, every conversation stopped.
The four of them glanced up at the same time. Eyes widened, mouths went slack.
It was... him.
But it wasn’t him.
The air seemed to freeze as they took in the form of the man who shouldn’t exist—who couldn’t exist.
Barry’s blue eyes flicked from one face to the next, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of his transformation. He walked past them, moving as though he were on a tightrope between worlds.
Lisa’s breath hitched. “Is that…”
Leonard’s jaw clenched. “Impossible.”
Cisco blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then blinked again. “What the hell just happened?”
Julian, ever the scientist, tilted his head, scrutinizing Barry. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Barry grabbed his coffee. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t say anything.
He knew. He always knew when it was time to go. The Speed Force felt it, too. Like a wave pulling him away.
Without a word, Barry stepped outside again, and once more, the Speed Force’s presence moved like a shadow beside him, its familiar weight always just behind. Neither of them needed to say anything.
It was time to go.
---
Outside Jitters, 11:15 a.m.
As they exited, the city seemed to grow quieter. The weight of the past few days, the constant questions, the nagging sense that something wasn’t right, hung thick in the air. People who walked by didn’t look twice, too busy with their own lives to notice the man with the bleached hair who once carried a city on his shoulders.
John Constantine had a gift—he knew when the pieces of the puzzle weren’t just scattered but actively shifting. He’d always known. He saw things that others didn’t, and he wasn’t just good at pulling on threads, he was an expert at unraveling worlds.
Maybe that was why he was here. Not for the wedding, not for the celebrations, but because it was only a matter of time before everything unraveled, and there was no telling what would happen once it did.
---
Meanwhile, Inside S.T.A.R. Labs
Cisco leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t shake the image of Barry from earlier. It was like something was out of alignment. He could feel it in his bones.
“I’ve never seen him like that,” Cisco murmured, almost to himself. “He wasn’t... he wasn’t Barry.”
“I know,” Julian replied, his voice thick with something unsaid. “But it was him. It had to be.”
HR, ever the optimistic one, chimed in. “Maybe it’s just some weird time glitch. You know, multiverse stuff, right? We’ve been dealing with weird things lately. It’ll sort itself out.”
But even HR’s joke couldn’t break the tension.
Something was off. And none of them could shake the feeling that it had everything to do with the person they had once known.
---
Chapter 10: “Ghosts in White”
Chapter Text
March 21st, 9:00 p.m.
---
The streetlights of Central City cast golden halos across the pavement, gentle orbs of light flickering like memories. It was quiet tonight—eerily so—as if the city itself held its breath.
Barry walked silently beside the Speed Force, who wore the face of his mother, Nora Allen.
Tonight, they were dressed in white.
Barry’s three-piece suit shimmered slightly under the streetlights. The silk gloves with lace patterns hugged his fingers with precision, his hat tilted just enough to shield his eyes but not the pale glow of his skin beneath the bleached blond hair. His roots had begun to show now—soft chestnut fading through pale gold. It was strange, but he didn’t mind. He looked like himself and not-himself. A living paradox.
Around his neck, the familiar four rows of pearls gleamed like moonlight.
The Speed Force walked beside him in a long white dress—simple, elegant, ethereal. Her pearls matched Barry’s, as did the gloves. A strange symmetry existed between them, a harmony forged in lightning and grief.
They didn’t speak.
They rarely did.
But it was peaceful.
---
Inside S.T.A.R. Labs – 9:02 p.m.
Every monitor was lit. Cisco’s hands danced over the keyboard, Julian stood to the side with his arms crossed, and HR had stopped babbling entirely—a sign that even he sensed the gravity of the moment. Lisa and Leonard stood in the back, unusually quiet.
Henry Allen and Nora Allen sat at the center console. They were pale, wide-eyed, disbelieving.
Joe West stood behind them, arms folded tightly across his chest, as if holding himself together.
They watched the screen with a hollow silence that buzzed like broken memories. The man on the screen wasn’t named. Not officially. They didn’t know him.
But they did.
Because that was Barry Allen.
He walked like their Barry. Moved like him. Carried the same silent guilt that had carved itself into his bones for years. Even if his hair was wrong and his name forgotten, the soul was the same.
Henry gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white. “That’s my son.”
“But he’s—” Nora started, voice trembling, “He’s gone. He died when he was little. We buried him, Joe. We buried him.”
Joe said nothing. He simply reached out and held her hand. Because what could he say? He’d seen the footage. He’d heard the whispers from the Speed Force itself. He knew what the truth was.
The impossible truth.
Their Barry hadn’t died. He had become something else.
---
Street Corner – 9:07 p.m.
Barry tilted his head up at the sky. He could feel them. Watching. Guessing. Piecing it together.
But he didn’t run.
The wind moved gently through his coat. His expression didn’t waver. His heart didn’t race.
The speed in him no longer screamed to move forward. For once, it was still.
He turned slightly to the Speed Force, who looked ahead in perfect calm, the hem of her white dress brushing softly against the sidewalk. She didn’t need to speak either. She knew everything.
He offered her his hand, and she took it.
In the cameras, the team watched the two figures walk further into the distance, hands joined like lost saints wandering a world they no longer belonged to.
---
Inside S.T.A.R. Labs – 9:10 p.m.
Henry was crying silently.
Nora Allen clutched a picture frame of Barry as a child. The smile in the photo matched the shape of the one they just saw flicker across his face for a split second before the cameras lost track of him.
Cisco broke the silence. “We don’t remember him... But we do. You know? It’s like muscle memory. Like... our hearts know what our brains don’t.”
Julian’s voice was hoarse. “What did he become?”
John Constantine stepped out from the shadows at the edge of the room, trench coat swirling. “Something more. Something old. Something bound to lightning and grief.”
He lit a cigarette with a flick of his fingers.
“He doesn’t belong to time anymore,” John muttered. “He is the echo.”
They all turned to look at him.
And John exhaled a plume of smoke and said softly,
“He's the ghost of every possibility. And the clock’s winding down.”
---
Chapter 11: “Too Soon, My Boy”
Chapter Text
March 21st, 11:57 p.m.
---
The city was quiet again. A strange hush had settled over it, like the world itself was bracing for something it didn’t yet understand.
Barry stood near the river, the moon casting soft ripples over the water. The glow of streetlamps behind him reflected off his pearls like starlight on glass. He didn’t feel cold, but he hugged his arms around himself anyway, as if pretending he could still shiver.
He wasn’t alone.
The Speed Force, still wearing the face of his mother, stood beside him—her white dress glowing faintly in the dark.
“I thought they’d remember more,” he murmured.
“They did,” she said gently, her voice warm and distant. “And it broke them.”
Barry looked down, guilt settling like frost along his spine. “I just wanted to see them. Just... one more time. Even if they didn’t know me. I thought maybe—”
“I know,” she whispered. She stepped closer, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. “But you’re not ready to be remembered yet. And they’re not ready to carry that weight again.”
He didn’t speak. His lips trembled, but no sound came.
“I’ll erase their memories,” she said softly, like she was telling him she’d take care of the laundry. “Again. They’ll forget the footage. The walk. The suit. The pearls. All of it.”
Barry turned toward her then, blue eyes shining with something ancient and tired. “Why keep putting me back if you’re just going to take it all away?”
“Because one day,” she said, tilting her head, “they’ll be ready. You’ll be ready. But not now. It’s too soon, my boy.”
She reached out and cupped his cheek gently. “Tomorrow is a wedding. Let them have that joy. Don’t let them carry a ghost into it.”
Barry leaned into the touch. For one moment, he closed his eyes and just... existed. Not as the Flash. Not as a remnant. Not as a paradox or echo. Just Barry. Just a boy who had wanted to grow up and live.
He took a breath.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Erase it.”
The Speed Force smiled gently. “You’ll still remember. I always let you remember.”
“Of course,” he whispered bitterly. “The one person who’s always haunted by it all.”
She leaned in, placing a kiss on his forehead.
And in a flicker of wind and white light—she was gone.
---
Inside S.T.A.R. Labs – 12:01 a.m.
Julian looked up from his notes and blinked. “Why am I holding this?”
Cisco frowned, staring at the screen. “We’ve got... no new breaches?”
Lisa blinked, turning to Leonard. “Didn’t we just—wait. Why are we even here?”
HR looked up from his coffee. “Were we doing something? Or did I hallucinate another team meeting?”
They all looked at each other, confused. Henry Allen and Nora were gone—Joe had apparently just dropped them home and returned like nothing had happened.
John Constantine lit another cigarette, standing silently in the corner.
He remembered.
He always did.
He muttered something under his breath. Latin, likely. Or maybe just curses the universe wouldn’t care about.
Because he’d seen the footage. Seen the boy in white walking down the street with something divine and terrible beside him.
And now it was gone.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Even ghosts deserve better than this.”
---
Chapter 12: "The Morning Light Feels Too Bright"
Chapter Text
March 22nd – 7:04 a.m.
---
The sun rose like it meant something.
Golden light spilled over Central City like honey, painting everything in warm hues that felt too saturated, too perfectly timed. Like someone was trying too hard to make this morning feel like a dream.
Because it was.
At least, that’s what John Constantine muttered as he poured a fourth shot of bourbon into his hotel room coffee.
He hadn't slept. He didn’t need to. The moment he’d closed his eyes, the memory hit him again—white suit, bleach blond curls, blue eyes wide as galaxies. The pearls. The silence. The ache.
He lit a cigarette with hands that shouldn’t have been shaking and muttered, “I see you, Speed Force. Can’t erase me.”
---
Elsewhere — 7:15 a.m.
S.T.A.R. Labs was buzzing with wedding prep chaos. Dresses steamed, suits scrambled, and someone was trying to find out where HR had hidden all the good champagne flutes.
Joe West paced in full dad-nervous-mode, snapping his fingers and listing things out loud. “Rings. Flowers. Vows. Rings again because I don’t trust HR. Did I say rings?”
HR was, in fact, wearing one of the wedding rings as a toe ring. For “luck.”
Iris was radiant and calm, sipping her morning tea like she hadn’t dreamt of pearls and bleach blond hair and streets that felt wrong.
Lisa Snart had accidentally frozen half the bouquet. Leonard was yelling in Russian and Caitlin was translating while doing her own eyeliner.
Cisco was wearing three bow ties at once and hadn’t noticed yet.
Julian was somewhere in a dark hallway, holding his coffee like it had personally betrayed him. Something itched in his mind. Like he’d seen something. Someone. A ghost in white. But it slipped from him every time he tried to think too hard.
“I feel like I forgot a dream,” he muttered.
“You and me both,” Lisa said, passing by in heels far too tall for war.
---
8:00 a.m. – Ceremony Preparations Begin
The garden was like something out of a magazine. Fairy lights hung like constellations and petals lined the aisle like stars fallen to earth.
It was too beautiful. Too perfect.
Even the sun was behaving.
And John Constantine hated every second of it.
He stood at the back, in black as always, puffing on a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have and glaring into empty air like it might flinch.
“You’re making it too good,” he muttered. “Trying to distract them.”
The wind didn’t answer. But he knew. He knew the Speed Force was listening.
Barry was gone.
No—worse.
Barry was missing in the kind of way that leaves a cold space in the heart. Everyone was happy today—but it wasn’t joy. It was artificial warmth sewn into their minds, like someone patched up grief with golden thread.
And only John had the needle that pulled it loose.
He touched the amulet tucked under his shirt. A small charm. Protection from spirits, lies, and meddling cosmics.
“Doesn’t work on heartbreak,” he muttered, eyes scanning the garden for someone who would never arrive.
But he stayed. Because someone had to remember.
And maybe—just maybe—someone else would too.
---
Meanwhile, Somewhere Else – 8:12 a.m.
Barry Allen sipped a mimosa on a rooftop, white suit glowing in the light of a sun he used to race.
He smiled quietly, eyes half-lidded as the Speed Force adjusted his hat for him.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “Feels weird not being there.”
“You wouldn’t be remembered,” she replied. “But you’d feel it. Every smile, every cheer, would feel like a betrayal.”
Barry sighed. “So I stay here. A secret. A flicker.”
“A flash,” she teased gently.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not funny.”
She only smiled.
---
Chapter 13: “Something Old, Something Forgotten”
Chapter Text
March 22nd – Wedding Day Chaos (and Beauty)
---
9:48 a.m. – Somewhere in the Gardens
“You lot know how to throw a bloody circus,” Constantine muttered, flicking a cigarette into the grass as harp music floated nearby. He wasn’t sure if it was played by a person or summoned by Barry’s ghost-level sentimentality.
The ceremony was about to begin.
Rows of white chairs lined the outdoor garden, strung with lights and wisteria. The sun above looked filtered, softened, like even the universe was wearing foundation for the occasion.
Guests trickled in like the opening scene of a very expensive rom-com.
Caitlin was kneeling in the grass, fussing with a bowtie on a very small baby in a very small tuxedo. “Rowan, please stop trying to eat the corsage,” she whispered, snapping photos on her phone. Ronnie stood nearby, holding Rowan like he’d won the universe in a raffle. The baby was blinking wide-eyed at the sunlight, enamored.
“Can I eat the corsage?” Ronnie asked, half-joking.
“You’ll get glitter lung.”
Behind them, Julian sat with Lisa Snart, Leonard, and Mick. Leonard looked like the king of winter in his snow-dusted suit and “I will stab someone if you mention love” scowl. Lisa wore gold and glitter like vengeance, and Mick had somehow smuggled in both a flask and an entire sandwich.
Julian looked exhausted but quietly moved. “It’s... beautiful.”
“Gross,” Leonard mumbled.
“Shut up,” Lisa said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “They love each other.”
“I’m just here for the cake,” Mick added.
---
10:00 a.m. – Cisco's Corner of Meltdown
Cisco Ramon was about to combust.
“THIS IS HAPPENING,” he whisper-yelled, gripping Dante’s sleeve. “OUR GIRL IS GETTING MARRIED, BRO. WHAT IF I FORGET SOMETHING? WHAT IF THE DOVES EXPLODE?”
“They’re paper doves,” Dante deadpanned.
“BUT WHAT IF.”
Dante sighed like a man carrying a grown man’s full emotional weight. He gently redirected Cisco’s panic with the practiced grace of a man who’s stopped this many times before. “Just breathe, Vibe. I’ll keep you from ugly-crying in front of the Waverider crew.”
“Too late!” Cisco cried, already blotting his face with a tissue he pulled from his sleeve like a magician.
---
10:22 a.m. – The Wells Row
HR Wells had mixed up a special “wedding shot.” No one knew what was in it. No one would survive it twice.
Harry from Earth-2 was staring in mute horror as Wally and Jesse tasted it with fearless joy. “This is an abomination,” he whispered.
Wally gasped. “Is this cinnamon and maple syrup?”
Jesse winced. “And... glitter?”
“It burns with personality!” HR yelled, wearing a bright pink bowtie and waving a bubble wand like it was sacred.
The Original Harrison Wells simply sighed, sipping black coffee like it was whiskey, and watching the children explode with mild fondness.
“I miss when they just fought crime,” he said.
---
10:45 a.m. – Before the Ceremony
The Arrow crew sat like polite warriors at a wedding they didn’t fully understand.
Oliver looked sharp in a black-on-black ensemble. Felicity had curled her hair and brought a mini drone to record the whole thing (secretly). Sara Lance had already snagged three different cocktails from the wrong trays.
“Why does it feel like something’s off?” Dinah whispered.
“Because something’s always off in this town,” Sara muttered. “But I like their champagne.”
---
11:11 a.m. – The Ceremony Begins
Music swelled. The chairs were full. The lights twinkled.
Joe West was crying before Iris even stepped out.
Iris, radiant in a soft white dress and veil, stepped into the sunlight. Eddie stood waiting, calm but glassy-eyed, his hands clenched just a little too tight.
And in that moment, everything was as it should be.
Or so it seemed.
Because back in the shadows, past the line of trees—
John Constantine lit another cigarette.
---
11:14 a.m. – Constantine and the Specter
“Bit of a show, yeah?” he muttered into the stillness.
The shadows shimmered.
Barry Allen stepped out in a black suit too perfect, too crisp. His blond curls were slicked back. His gloves lace. His hat wide.
“Hello, John.”
“You always had a flair for drama,” Constantine said, not looking. “You can’t be here.”
“I’m not. Not really.” Barry’s voice was quiet. Soft like mourning.
Constantine finally turned. His expression was unreadable. “You watching her marry someone else?”
Barry smiled faintly. “She deserves happiness.”
“She deserves you.”
“She doesn’t remember me.”
John exhaled. “I do.”
“I know.” Barry looked at him then, those too-blue eyes brimming with sadness. “That’s why I’m here.”
“The Speed Force’ll scrub it again.”
“Let it try.” John reached into his coat, pulling out a small silver charm, inscribed with a rune. “I’m making something permanent.”
Barry’s face twitched. “Thank you.”
“You’re not gone,” John muttered. “Just... misplaced.”
“Like keys?”
“Like fate.”
The wind stirred. The shadows trembled. And just as suddenly as he’d appeared, Barry was gone.
Only the faintest scent of ozone remained.
---
11:30 a.m. – “I Do.”
Eddie and Iris kissed under the light of a too-perfect sky.
Applause exploded like thunder. People cried. Champagne flowed.
But Constantine stood still, hand in his coat, fingers clenched around a charm warm from memory.
---
Chapter 14: “Reception of the Year (and Maybe a Bit of Magic)”
Chapter Text
March 22nd — Evening
---
7:01 p.m. – The Reception Begins
John Constantine was leaning against a tree near the open-air reception hall, nursing a glass of something suspiciously neon and flipping through a leather-bound spellbook he’d stuffed into a copy of Wedding Etiquette for Beginners.
He was technically there as a guest.
He was functionally there as a cosmic saboteur.
He was philosophically there to give the middle finger to metaphysical bureaucracy.
“Let me guess,” a tipsy Sara Lance whispered as she passed by, “you’re either cursing the shrimp or unraveling the universe.”
“Bit of both,” John replied with a smirk.
The garden had transformed into something pulled out of a dream and run through a chaos blender. Fairy lights zig-zagged through trees, and floating lanterns gently hovered just above the tables—courtesy of Cisco, who had sobbed while enchanting them and nearly set one on fire.
The music swelled, soft jazz mixed with awkward techno transitions. There was no theme. The theme was: vibes only.
And speaking of vibes, Cisco was actively melting.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE GOT MARRIED. MY LITTLE BESTIE. SHE'S MARRIED. WHAT IF—WHAT IF SHE FORGETS ME WHEN SHE MOVES TO THE MOON?" he sobbed, clutching Dante like a Victorian lady.
Dante, worn and slightly sweaty from dancing, sighed the sigh of every older brother everywhere. “The moon doesn’t have Wi-Fi. She won’t go there. Chill.”
“She looked SO PRETTY,” Cisco cried harder.
“She did. And she still has your name saved under ‘Best Friend/Chaos Source.’ You’re fine.”
---
7:12 p.m. – Rowan’s Baby Politics
Rowan, the tiny tuxedo-wearing chaos gremlin, was being carried like royalty by none other than the bride herself. Why?
“Because I’m shiny,” Iris said simply, when Caitlin tried to reclaim her son.
“Wait—what?”
Rowan just blinked. Then gripped Iris’s necklace like a man clinging to the only sanity in the multiverse. “Ba ba shiny,” he whispered, very seriously.
“See?” Iris grinned, eyes still dewy from happy tears. “I have baby approval.”
Ronnie raised his hands in surrender. “Can’t argue with baby logic.”
---
7:21 p.m. – Wally's Emotional Breakdown
Jesse stood calmly, sipping punch, while Wally zipped around like a caffeinated hummingbird on the verge of an emotional crisis.
“She’s married. My sister is married. I’m going to throw up in my boots. My boots deserve better. How did this happen?!”
“You helped plan it.” Jesse deadpanned.
Wally stopped mid-panic. “Oh God. I did. That makes me a co-conspirator.”
Jesse patted his back. “It’s okay. You’re adorable when you panic. Very... animated.”
Wally slumped onto a chair. “Everything is weird.”
“She’s married. She’s married. My sister. Is married. I seriously wasn’t READY.”
“You’re acting like she died,” Jesse said, sipping one of HR’s rainbow-colored ‘Emotion Juice’ cocktails.
“Emotionally, I have.” Wally groaned, flopping into a chair. “Do I even exist now? What if I fade away like a side character after a wedding arc?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m a speedster. That’s our brand.”
---
7:34 p.m. – The Wells Table
Original Harrison and Harry from Earth-2 sat like weary Greek philosophers, watching the reception swirl with lights, laughter, and suspicious beverages.
HR was currently dancing with a mop. No one knew why.
“That one died for her,” Harry muttered. “That version of him. He saved her.”
“He’s still a damn fool,” Original Wells said. “But a noble one. We keep an eye on him.”
HR spun and dipped the mop. “She loves me for my bold moves!” he shouted.
“She loves you because she thinks you’re the janitor,” Leonard muttered from nearby.
Not even 23 minutes went by and H.R was already doing something stupid
Harrison Wells (OG flavor) and Harry from Earth-2 were watching HR do karaoke now.
They did not approve. But they did not intervene.
HR, wearing a glittery fedora and wielding a tambourine, was absolutely butchering “I Will Always Love You.”
“You know we’re partly responsible for him,” Harry muttered.
“I know,” Harrison replied grimly. “We let this happen. We enabled this.”
They raised their drinks in silent mourning.
---
7:49 p.m. – Lisa & Mick's Bar Adventure
Lisa and Mick had just discovered the forbidden drinks bar. The drinks were radioactive. Literally. They glowed faintly in the dark.
“Who the hell greenlit these?” Mick asked, taking a sip and instantly burping fire.
“I did,” Lisa grinned, downing a second one. “They taste like sin and birthday cake.”
“You’re gonna kill us,” Mick muttered affectionately.
“Die fabulous,” Lisa declared, clinking her glass with his.
Mick of course didn't stop because he got another one
“These taste like watermelon mixed with vengeance,” Lisa said, eyes wide. “Who even honestly approved these? Like honestly”
“I think HR said ‘the laws of God and man no longer apply,’” Mick replied.
“Oh yeah. Checks out.”
---
8:25 p.m. – Leonard & Julian's Private Talk
Under a softly lit archway, Leonard and Julian stood a little too close, voices low, the space between them crackling with tension and something unspoken.
“We don’t do weddings,” Leonard said.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re here. With a tie.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
Julian smirked. “Takes one to know one.”
There was a silence. Warm. Electric. Dangerous.
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But they didn’t have to.
---
8:17 p.m. – Oliver’s Attempt at Dignity
Oliver Queen stood at the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, trying to look broody and unbothered.
It didn’t work.
A kid tripped on his foot. Someone accidentally spilled glitter on his shoulder. Sara Lance shouted across the dance floor, “Ollie! Stop looking like a Bat-Dad! It’s a wedding, not a funeral!”
He cracked a smile.
The moment was ruined when HR asked him to dance. He politely declined, then accepted, because HR threatened to cry.
Queens, usually the composed brooding one, tried very hard to keep a straight face.
Tried.
And when Cisco shouted “MAZEL TOV!” and fell into the cake table?
Yeah. Oliver cracked. Giggled.
And when Sara caught it on her drone cam? He flipped her off with the chillest smile he’d ever had all whilst dancing with H.R
---
8:22 p.m. – Meanwhile, in John's Head
John Constantine was at the bar, scribbling furiously into a notebook behind a tray of fire drinks and leftover cupcakes.
“You alright, mate?” asked Thea Queen, poking him.
“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Just crafting an anti-concept memory anchor that won’t cause the Speed Force to smite me. No big.”
“You’re literally using napkins and eyeliner.”
“Witchcraft is an art, sweetheart.”
He paused.
Eyes narrowing.
His fingers moved faster.
The charm in his pocket—warmed by Barry’s essence—buzzed slightly.
“You’re not gone,” he whispered. “Just misplaced.”
Constantine pulled out the charm. Same one from before.
He whispered an incantation under his breath, his voice the only steady thing in the madness.
“Remember him,” he said softly. “Even if the Force says ‘no.’ Even if time rewrites. Remember the truth beneath the veil.”
He tucked the charm into the folds of Iris’s bouquet as she passed by during her dance with Eddie.
No one noticed.
Except one shadow in white lace, standing at the edge of the reception.
The Speed Force. Watching. Silent.
And maybe... just maybe... not stopping him this time.
---
8:30 p.m. – End of the Night (Almost)
The lights dimmed. The first dance passed. Cake was cut.
Somewhere in the sky, unseen, a ripple passed.
And for just a second—
Barry Allen was there. Just outside the lights.
Watching.
Smiling.
Alive in every laugh, every step, every tear.
Unseen.
But not forgotten.
Not by John.
Never by John.
Ever....
---
Chapter 15: “In the Wake of Speed and Smoke”
Chapter Text
March 23rd — Very, Very Early Morning
---
2:03 a.m. – The Rooftop and the Pattern
John Constantine lit another cigarette with hands that had memorized trembling centuries ago. He stood alone on the rooftop above the reception hall, the faint music of celebration still humming below. The stars watched like indifferent gods, but John wasn't looking at them.
He was tracing sigils with his foot, lazily, as if he wasn’t actively reverse-engineering divine cosmic memory to anchor one man against a concept.
The Speed Force.
God bless it—and hell damn it.
Because John was starting to see it.
The pattern.
At first, the Speed Force had seemed like a blessing, a holy conduit of movement and potential. With Barry? It had been gentle. Guiding. Protective. A parent who adored its chosen child, whispering encouragement into his molecules.
But John had lived long enough to know what power looked like when it turned sour.
It hadn’t always been kind. Not to others. Not to all.
He remembered how it had handled Wally at first—aloof. Dismissive. The way it punished Eobard like a rabid dog, rather than with mercy. And how it had stripped Barry from their timeline like pulling a thread out of a tapestry because it could.
“Bastard thing plays favorites,” John muttered.
Then—
“I heard that.”
---
2:07 a.m. – The Speed Force Appears
Barry stood behind him. No warning. No crackle of lightning. Just there—solid, for now. Eyes soft. Hair windswept by nothing at all.
John didn’t flinch.
He just exhaled smoke and offered the cigarette. “Dead blokes aren’t supposed to eavesdrop, you know.”
Barry didn’t take the smoke. “You’re not wrong. About the Speed Force.”
They stood quietly. The city slept.
Barry, slightly transparent, just barely, as though time hadn’t decided if it wanted to keep him.
“I thought it was always good,” Barry said quietly, “but it’s… not just love. It’s control. Sometimes it’s a cradle. Sometimes a leash.”
“And it chose you to carry the leash willingly,” John said.
Barry nodded. “And I did. I still would.”
---
2:10 a.m. – Memory Echoes
Then came the echo.
A memory—no, a moment.
Barry walking down a dimly lit street, not long ago. Arm looped with John's. The elder man looked half-drunk, half-wise, and Barry looked like hope itself wearing sneakers.
They had been laughing. About something stupid. About a demon made of tea bags or a magician who used rats as currency—something dumb and beautiful.
The Speed Force had watched then, silent and invisible, letting Barry be.
Letting him have his joy.
Not because of destiny.
But because Barry asked for it.
It hadn’t denied him that.
---
2:14 a.m. – John’s Thoughts
John stared at that younger Barry—so damn young, even now, standing beside him.
He wasn’t his son. Not truly.
But John had held gods accountable. He’d tricked devils, burned angels, outplayed reality.
And for Barry?
For that soul?
He would do it again.
He would trick the Speed Force itself into letting Barry live.
“You’re not a weapon, mate,” he muttered. “You’re a wish. And I’m the bastard who’s gonna make it come true.”
---
2:18 a.m. – The Speed Force Speaks
The sky shimmered faintly.
A voice like static and lullabies spoke—no gender, no tone, only pressure.
“You defy the cycle, John Constantine.”
He smirked. “Yeah, well. Cycles are for washing machines.”
A pause.
“He was not meant to linger.”
“But he does. Because he's not done yet. And deep down, you know it too. That’s why you let him walk around. Because he wants to. And you want to see him happy before the next charge.”
Another pause. Almost… guilty.
“He loved. He was loved. We honored that.”
“And now?” John asked. “Now, you let me build something. A charm, a lock, a loophole—something. He’s not ready. And if you care even a little, you won’t take him. Not yet.”
---
2:25 a.m. – Deal with a Concept
The Speed Force didn’t reply with words.
But a single spark floated into John's palm.
Not just a spark.
A seed.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, holding it like a sleeping flame.
---
2:27 a.m. – Barry, Again
Barry had vanished. But the air still smelled like lightning and warm wind.
John smiled, faint and tired.
“I’m gonna save you, you daft boy. Even if I have to out-stubborn a god.”
---
Chapter 16: “The Echo in the Mirror”
Chapter Text
March 24th — When Dreams Bleed Through
---
Iris West-Allen woke up crying.
She didn’t know why.
She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror—hair tangled, eyes glassy—and for a terrifying moment, her mind whispered a name she had not spoken aloud in days:
Barry.
Again.
But this time, it came with flashes.
A lightning storm in her chest. A laugh that made her knees weak. A ring, slipping onto her finger in a church full of light. A wedding dress. Cisco sobbing. Catiline yelling “GET THE BABY TO LOOK AT ME!” while taking twenty pictures a minute. Jesse and Wally sneaking drinks. Julian’s exhausted smile. John Constantine muttering "bloody hell" at the punch.
And Barry—always Barry.
Her Barry.
---
The name was everywhere now.
She saw it on coffee cups, in old newspapers, in flickering headlines on the TV that glitched for just a second.
Barry Allen.
It should’ve hurt more than it did.
Because somewhere deep inside, she remembered.
---
Elsewhere — In the Speed Realm
Barry stood in the endless golden storm, holding a book that pulsed with impossible energy.
The Codex Infernos.
A gift. A curse. A spellbook made before language, buried in the heart of magic itself, bound in the metaphysical skin of forgotten gods.
He stared at the cover. The lettering shifted with every blink. Sometimes it said Run. Sometimes it said Remember.
“Speed Force,” Barry said aloud, flipping to a random page that glowed and breathed. “I care about you. I really do. You’ve saved me more times than I can count.”
A flicker of energy hummed around him in acknowledgment.
“But magic? Really? This is John Constantine level stuff. I’m not Constantine. I’m not even his tiny brunette version, and that’s insulting to Zatanna.”
The Speed Force didn’t speak, but it offered a soft hum—soothing, knowing, and slightly smug.
---
Somewhere inside the Codex…
There were spells not meant for time-bound beings. Spells to anchor, to return, to preserve identity across erased timelines.
The kind of spell John Constantine would be both proud of and terrified by.
And Barry?
He was meant to learn them.
Because favorites don’t get forgotten.
They get a chance.
---
Meanwhile — John Constantine
John was watching the stars again.
Only now, the stars blinked back in Morse code.
The spell was holding—barely. Memories were leaking. Barry’s presence wasn’t completely erased. Just… rerouted.
But now Iris was remembering.
He sighed, lighting another cigarette.
“Well, mate,” he muttered, “your girl’s waking up. Hope you’re ready to read out loud from the damn magical encyclopedia. Because if you screw up even one syllable—”
A crack of lightning split the horizon.
“…Right,” John said. “You are my problem now.”
---
Chapter 17: “Latin, Lightning, and a Book That’s Probably Cursed”
Chapter Text
---
The spell had worked.
Iris West-Now-Thawne was married to a man she cared about. Safe. Secure. Stable.
But the dreams?
They didn’t care about vows or names on paper.
Barry Allen kept showing up in her subconscious like a song she once knew. Like muscle memory. Like a secret only her soul remembered.
She woke up whispering a name not written in her marriage certificate.
---
Meanwhile…
Barry Allen, the magical boy who never asked for this, sat in a dimly lit pocket of the Speed Realm with the Codex Infernos in his lap.
His shirt was unbuttoned. His tie was a noose on the floor. His sanity? That left three chapters ago.
“I’m—hic—gonna hex myself into a toaster,” he mumbled, scribbling notes in what might have been a cocktail napkin.
The Codex glowed in quiet judgment.
Spell 37: The Reclamation of Soul-Bound Union Through Dimensional Synchronicity.
Warning: Knowledge of High Latin Required.
Barry sobbed.
Spiritually.
The Speed Force gently patted his back with lightning. It wasn’t helping.
---
John Constantine, back in the normal realm, choked on his drink and shouted into the empty kitchen:
“STOP WEEPING INTO THE ASTRAL PLANE, BARRY! I CAN HEAR IT THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS OF EXISTENCE!”
---
Elsewhere in Central City…
Julian kept getting chills.
Leonard had dreams of a stranger whose voice felt like a memory. He didn't talk about it—but he kept glancing at Julian like he knew something was missing.
Catiline had no clue, too busy wrangling tiny tux-wearing Rowan, who was now in possession of at least four sippy cups and one of Cisco’s prototype gadgets. How? Unknown.
Cisco? Still sobbing from the wedding.
Dante? Alive, sarcastic, and 98% sure the toaster is haunted. (He’s not wrong. Barry was trying things.)
---
Back to Iris:
She watched Eddie sleep.
But something itched in her chest.
Not love lost… but love buried.
The dreams were growing louder. And in the mirror, sometimes, just sometimes, she swore her reflection flickered—wedding dress traded for another.
A different ring. A different vow.
And behind her… lightning.
---
Chapter 18: “Widowmaker and the Thawne-Thinker Combo”
Chapter Text
It was a Wednesday. A quiet, uneventful day—or so they thought.
March 29.
Barry Allen was back. No, not in the usual suit, though the Speed Force surely had him suited up in something heroic. But today? Barry was dressed like a goth widow who’d just lost her fourth husband to the Dancing Plague. Yeah. That kind of mood.
Three-piece suit? Check. Brimmed hat? Naturally. Pearls? Of course, but with a twist of "I’m mourning something," because why not be overdramatic when it’s your only life you’ve got? His entire look screamed elegance in a way that only the Speed Force could coordinate, but for now, Barry was just that awkward, silent figure that felt way too right and wrong all at once.
But the real question was: Why did the world need another masked vigilante?
Well, he wasn’t exactly masked.
Enter The Widowmaker justice.
---
A man, no mask, no costume, just a suit. Clean lines, sharp edges, and eyes that saw through everything. The type that shot criminals, not to kill them, but to remind them of their place in the grand game.
Barry watched this from the shadows, his eyes narrowing. This man was dressed just as elegantly as he was—something in that made Barry’s stomach churn.
Widowmaker was there to deliver a message.
A man held a woman hostage, a gun to her head. The police were closing in, but they weren’t fast enough. Wally was seconds late.
Barry? He wasn’t late.
---
The flash of light was there and gone. In a heartbeat, Barry stood by the man, already out of the frame, his gun blazing a spark that shot right through the criminal’s legs. Not to kill—just to slow down.
Magic?
The criminal collapsed, screaming as he grabbed his leg, and Barry stepped back, straightening his suit like it was just another day at work.
---
John Constantine felt it—the disturbance. He could hear the faintest hum, like a spell that was just too loud for Barry's simple mortal ears. Something was wrong.
He had been watching the wedding. Having a drink. Maybe two.
But then that energy hit him.
And the clip hit the net.
The vigilante in the wide-brim hat. The pearls. The elegance that was both familiar and unsettling.
---
Team Flash watched, jaws slack, eyebrows raised, eyes narrowing with questions only they knew how to ask.
Who was this man?
Why did he look like he walked out of a fashion magazine from another universe?
Why did he not kill the criminal? Why was this man so damn... cool?
And why did he feel so familiar?
It wasn't even illegal. In fact, Barry could’ve had a better time buying coffee while standing there with that much class.
Cisco had yelled I'm naming him
Hence widowmaker justice was now real
---
But
The Thinker was already deep in his plans. He’d manipulated time, memory, and the very fabric of reality in his favor. All that mattered was his objective. The new weapon, the code, everything was coming together.
He was calculating, methodical. And he had an ally now.
Cicada.
---
How the hell did this happen?
They weren’t supposed to work together.
Thinker, the genius, working with Cicada, the brute who could destroy metas with a touch? That wasn’t a team-up anyone expected. But it was happening.
And now, there were whispers in the city. Rumors of a new kind of justice, one that wasn’t going to wait for the Flash.
---
The speed force watched the clip. Quietly. From its cosmic perch. Its intentions were still unclear, but one thing was certain—it had been too soon.
Too soon for Barry to see himself in that widowmaker. Too soon to drag out the memory of who he used to be—before it all fell apart. And yet, here he was, still walking the line of vigilante justice.
The speed force didn’t want to acknowledge that this… man might be another piece of the puzzle.
But he was. And Barry was playing it so casually, like a well-dressed shadow in the night.
---
John Constantine sat, sipping his drink again. He stared into the bottom of his glass, smirking to himself.
"Thought you might’ve figured that one out by now, Barry," he mumbled to himself, knowing, deep down, that this had nothing to do with fate. This was about magic, willpower, and a whole lot of emotional baggage.
---
Barry had no clue.
But something was about to catch up to him. And that something wasn't just a new vigilante out there in the streets. It was a mix of revenge, justice, and a reckoning—The Thinker and Cicada would make their move soon, and Barry would have no choice but to face it all head-on.
But first?
He had to get rid of the widowmaker’s ghost inside his head. And maybe… just maybe… try to figure out how to properly curse with a book from the Codex Infernos.
---
Chapter 19: The Ghost in the Room
Chapter Text
March 29, 2017 — 7:04 PM
Location: STAR Labs
Population: Team Flash — Overflowing with chaotic brilliance and unresolved trauma
---
It was a full house.
The three Wellses were bickering about quantum entropy over wine.
Jesse and Wally were mid-spar, arguing lovingly in that "we both know we’re fast but I’m faster" way.
Caitlin cradled a sleeping Rowan Raymond, her baby looking like trouble and brilliance had a child.
Ronnie hovered nearby, uncharacteristically emotional over baby socks.
Lisa was laughing too hard at something Julian said while Leonard rolled his eyes and passed Mick another beer.
Cisco and Dante had tag-teamed on pizza duty.
Joe was grilling ribs outside because dad-mode never sleeps.
Iris and Eddie? Quiet. Tense. Something in the air.
The gathering felt warm. Lived in. But also… wrong. Like playing a song on repeat and one note is just slightly off.
It was Julian who finally said it, sipping his wine like a man solving a murder with vibes alone.
> “Does anyone else feel like we’re missing something? Like—like there’s a name on the tip of your tongue that just... won’t come out?”
There was silence. Then Caitlin whispered, "I've been having dreams. About lightning."
---
That was the moment.
The shift.
The click of a puzzle piece someone had shoved under the couch years ago.
---
Iris stood.
Hands slightly trembling, voice clear.
> “Barry. Barry Allen. He was… he was everything. My fiancé. My best friend. Joe raised him after his parents died—Nora and Henry Allen. He was the Flash. He was the missing key.”
Eddie looked like the air had been punched out of him.
“Barry Allen…” he repeated, a taste unfamiliar but haunting. The name rang like a bell he didn’t know he’d once heard every morning.
---
Jesse sat down hard, staring into nothing.
Lisa stopped laughing.
Mick said nothing—a sure sign he was actually listening.
Cisco blinked rapidly like he was buffering emotions.
And Leonard?
Leonard’s expression was unreadable. But deep down, something buzzed behind his eyes.
Barry Allen.
That name echoed through all of them like a ripple.
---
Meanwhile — The Speed Realm
A conversation that had no time. No weather. Just resonance.
Barry sat in his widowmaker fit, pearls and all, cross-legged like a disillusioned monk.
John Constantine was lighting a cigarette made of starfire. Don’t ask how.
And the Speed Force, this time manifesting as Nora Allen, was sitting beside Barry like she had all the time in creation.
Barry’s voice was quiet.
> “If I’m not Barry Allen anymore… then who the hell am I?”
John exhaled. “That's a question people pay me to avoid answering, mate.”
But it was Nora—the Speed Force—who dropped the philosophical anvil.
> “You are who I choose. And I choose you, Barry. Still. Again. Always.”
John narrowed his eyes. “That’s not like you. Speed Force never had favorites.”
> “It didn’t.”
“Until him.”
That silenced them.
Because she was right.
Speed was fair. Speed was balance. But Barry Allen had bent the system by being the exception.
---
Back at STAR Labs, the team sat in silence.
A name had cracked through reality, and suddenly, nothing was certain.
Memories were still gone, but emotions were creeping back in.
And for the first time in a long time, Iris felt like she could breathe.
Even if it was through a storm.
---
Barry didn’t know if he was ready to return.
But ready or not, the world had already started to remember him.
And when the world remembers a Flash, it never forgets again.
--
Chapter 20: Phantom Limbs & Pretty Pearls
Chapter Text
March 30, 2017 — 2:21 AM
Location: The Speed Realm (™ Because Why Not)
---
Barry Allen was sobbing into a book that had no title and maybe teeth.
His perfectly tailored three-piece suit had pearls that shimmered like stress-induced stars.
His brimmed hat? On the ground, forgotten, like his will to decode Latin.
The Codex Infernos was not your average bedtime read.
More like bedtime torment with occasional sparkles.
“Why—hic—does this spell have four conjugations of the word ‘suffering’?”
John Constantine didn’t look up.
He was too busy doing the magical equivalent of grading Barry's soul with a red pen.
“Because it’s magic, sunshine. You think I got these eyebags from beauty sleep?”
And then there was Nora, the Speed Force, sitting like a proud celestial PTA mom.
“You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
John glared. “Are you okay? You’re the Speed Force. You don’t do coddling. You once slapped me through seven timelines for mispronouncing ‘Chronodermis.’”
“He’s special,” Nora said simply.
John muttered, “Oh bloody hell, you do have a favorite.”
---
Meanwhile — Central City
Leonard Snart was drinking something cold, staring at something warm: the moon.
Julian was next to him, furrowed-browed like a man who read five languages and still felt dumb.
Neither of them knew what they were feeling.
But they felt it.
Like phantom limbs.
Like a laugh they missed in the hallway.
Like a hand that had once held both of theirs and then just wasn’t there anymore.
---
Leonard frowned first.
“You ever feel like you forgot a crime you liked committing?”
Julian blinked.
“I feel like I lost a wife I never married.”
They both stared straight ahead.
Then Julian whispered:
“What color were his eyes?”
Leonard didn’t hesitate.
“Lightning.”
---
Back in the Speed Realm, Barry’s sobbing had slowed to a spiritual sniffle.
He looked up at John and the supportive PTA energy glowing off the Speed Force.
“Why do I feel like I had a home I don’t remember building? A love I never confessed but also definitely did? Plural?”
John tossed a sigil at Barry’s head, lovingly.
“Because magic’s a bitch, and you’re wearing pearls while sobbing in Latin. We’re officially a CW fever dream now.”
Barry wiped his eyes and held the Codex closer.
“Do I have two husbands?”
“Maybe,” Nora said, looking proud enough to put a bumper sticker on her existence that said "My Son Is Married to One British man and One Russian man"
Constantine sighed hard smoking away like an exhausted father
---
To be continued...
Chapter 21: “The Time That Wasn’t and a look into the past"
Chapter Text
The Codex Infernos hummed with quiet menace, its pages fluttering in a wind that didn’t exist. Runes glowed in gold and red, each one whispering stories Barry wasn’t ready to hear. But the book had no chill and definitely no off switch. It only needed his fingertip on the wrong sigil.
And just like that, reality peeled open like a fruit.
He didn’t scream. He just fell—through time, through memory, through heartbreak that tasted like burnt coffee and missed birthdays.
---
It started after the spell. Or the reset. Or whatever cosmic nonsense John Constantine would call it with a cigarette and five layers of sarcasm.
Everyone went on. The world kept spinning. Iris married Eddie. Caitlin held her child. Wally trained. Cisco thrived.
But Barry? Barry existed somewhere between pages of time that had been erased and rewritten and casually set on fire.
He had no name anymore. Not really.
The world saw a blur sometimes—no ID, no trace. A ghost in pearl cufflinks and too many secrets. Technically, biologically, cosmically? He was nineteen.
He remembered being twenty-seven. Remembered heartbreaks and villains and weddings that never happened. But the Speed Force had compressed, folded, rewound. His cells hummed with that fact—fresh, fast, and completely displaced.
He watched Iris walk down the street, laughing at something Eddie said.
He watched Dante and Cisco work in the same lab, throwing popcorn at each other during meetings.
He watched Joe smile at Rowan, that grandfather joy Barry used to crave.
He wasn’t dead. He was just... forgotten.
---
He had jobs. Fake names. A janitor once at a power plant. A courier. A librarian in Opal City for three months where he read so much he almost forgot how much his soul itched.
He couldn’t stay still. Every time he sat down, his body thrummed like it knew something was missing.
He wore black a lot. Maybe out of mourning. Maybe because he looked fabulous in it and the Speed Force had taste.
He watched STAR Labs grow from a barely functioning mess into something legendary. And he watched from rooftops. Always just far enough not to be seen.
They didn’t remember him.
No flicker in Caitlin’s eyes. No awkward "don’t I know you?" from Cisco. Not even a twitch from Wally.
Except Leonard. Sometimes.
Once, Barry had passed him in Central City, dressed like an accidental 1920s widow with a long black coat and silver pins.
Leonard had looked at him with a pause, a double take. Nothing said. Just a glance too long.
Barry had almost turned around. Almost.
But the world had moved on. And the Speed Force whispered:
> “You’re not ready to be remembered.”
---
He hated how calm it sounded.
He hated that it was right.
---
Barry had tried to keep his distance. He really had.
But grief is loud, and longing is louder, and the Speed Force didn’t hand out noise-cancelling headphones.
So he stayed close. Close enough to feel the vibrations of the life he used to have. Close enough that on some mornings, he could hear Cisco laugh through the walls of STAR Labs. It used to be his laugh too, bouncing off those cold metal walls—too loud, too genuine, too alive.
Now? He was an echo in the walls. A static hum they couldn't hear.
---
The day Wally got his speed, Barry felt it before it happened.
He’d been watching from a rooftop, arms crossed, dressed in that cursed black coat that made him look like an extra in a gothic opera. Rain hit his face, but he didn’t blink.
Wally had lit up like a star.
The crackle, the blast, the joy—Wally had screamed when the lightning took hold. Not in pain. In awe.
And Barry’s hands had clenched so tight, he felt bone strain under skin.
Because that was supposed to be a day they shared.
Barry had once held Wally steady as the lightning danced around him. Had whispered, "You've got this, Kid Flash."
Now he just stood above. Unseen. Like a forgotten deity cursed to watch worshippers find new gods.
---
Ronnie laughed that day, hugging Caitlin. Jesse clapped. Cisco cheered.
Barry grieved.
Not because Wally had speed. But because Wally didn’t even know who to thank. The scarlet shadow in the storm above them—that was just weather to him.
---
Then came the dreams.
Iris was first. Of course she was.
She always had one toe dipped in destiny’s pool. Barry once joked that she was part oracle, part chaos gremlin, part star—shining bright, screaming at fate to let her choose.
She dreamt of him holding her hand. Of losing him. Of kisses in alleyways and dancing barefoot in their apartment. Of wedding rings, shattered timelines, and his voice saying, "It was always you."
And every morning she woke up with Eddie beside her, confused by her tears.
---
Some nights, Barry stood outside her window, cloaked by speed and sorrow.
He never went in.
He’d lost that right when the spell rewrote the universe.
He was a remnant of an “almost.” A wrinkle in fate’s discarded draft.
---
John Constantine eventually found him, of course.
Drunk. Smoking. Carrying a hangover so sharp it could slice open dimensions. He didn’t say hello. Just stared at Barry, who was sitting on a water tower like some damn brooding crow.
“…You look like if regret was hot.”
Barry didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.
Just said, “I can’t breathe.”
John exhaled smoke. “Yeah. That’s grief, sunshine. And cosmic manipulation. Real nasty mix.”
Then the bastard handed him a flask, glowing faintly with runes. Magic was in everything now. In Barry. In the book. In the curse of being remembered by no one but haunted by everyone.
---
The Speed Force still whispered.
Still doted.
Still called him its boy.
It stitched pearls into his cuffs. Fixed the wind so it always blew dramatically. Wrapped him in time like a blanket he hadn’t asked for.
But Barry wanted someone to scream.
To remember.
To miss him.
Even if it broke them.
Because at least then, he wouldn’t be the only one crying in the rain, in clothes meant for a funeral no one knew had happened.
---
It was April 1st when Leonard looked at a coffee mug and dropped it.
No reason. Just… dropped it.
Shattered across the floor like it meant something. Like a message in porcelain.
Julian was the one who bent down to clean it up, and for a second—just a second—he looked at Len like he’d lost him once before.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it. That creeping something crawling under their skin. A phantom ache. An emotional bruise they didn’t remember getting.
---
Lisa cracked first.
She was in the Cortex, scrolling through the footage of that mystery figure in the hat—the Widowmaker. The one who moved too fast. The one who wore three-piece suits like armor and shot criminals in the legs without hesitation. Not to kill. Just to stop them. Efficient. Clean. Controlled.
"Who is this guy?" she whispered, voice catching in her throat.
No one answered.
Because the moment he looked up in the video—just a flicker of his profile—every damn person in the room felt it.
Something ancient. Something familiar.
Something missing.
Cisco paled.
Dante's hands trembled slightly on the keyboard.
Even Mick, who gave zero damns about most things, said, “That guy gives me migraines. Like I owe him money or something.”
---
Julian excused himself.
He locked the bathroom door and stared at his reflection, chest heaving.
“Why do I miss you,” he whispered to no one. “Why do I love you… and not even know who you are?”
---
Back in the Speed Realm, Barry screamed into the void.
Literally.
The Speed Force had provided him a quiet glade, suspended in a field of timelessness, filled with gentle wind and shimmering stars. Barry had decided to scream into it anyway. Like a Disney princess having a psychotic break.
John Constantine stood nearby, arms crossed, watching with the patience of a man who had definitely seen weirder.
“Feel better?”
Barry sniffed. “No. My voice cracked three times.”
“You’re grieving.”
“I’m unraveling like a Victorian widow with a corset too tight.”
John snorted. “That is your vibe lately.”
---
The Codex Infernos sat open beside him, glowing faintly with magic that burned to be read.
Barry tried.
He tried and failed.
Latin danced and twisted. Magic resisted his logic. The spells refused to form unless his emotions were raw, unless he bled metaphorically and sometimes literally.
One page actually required a drop of blood and a memory that hurt so badly it made him cry before he even touched it.
---
The Speed Force just watched.
Cradled him in wind.
Braided starlight into his hair like a mother pretending everything was fine.
John pulled her aside eventually.
“Oi. You're not subtle, you know that?”
She blinked at him. (Or maybe her entire sky flickered. It was hard to tell.)
“You never picked favorites,” John continued. “Even with Max, even with Jesse, even with Wally—fair was the name of your game.”
She said nothing.
“So why him?”
Finally, the Speed Force whispered, voice soft as gravity:
“Because he was the first to break time with love.”
---
Barry didn’t know that.
Not yet.
He only knew he was learning spells that tasted like ash, bleeding into parchment older than Earth itself, and dreaming of hands he missed—one with frostbitten fingers, the other calloused and clinical.
And he didn’t know which one had kissed him first. Or last.
But he missed both.
God, did he miss both.
---
Barry spent hours staring at the Codex Infernos.
The book glowed, as if teasing him. As if it knew.
He had bled into its pages, leaving parts of himself behind that could never be retrieved. But it didn’t help. The magic remained cryptic, like a riddle wrapped in a puzzle box made of fire.
His hands shook.
That much was the only thing he recognized about himself these days: the ache of never truly being in control. Even when he had every single power the Speed Force could offer, this... this was different. This was bigger. This was... an emotional cage, wrapped in golden energy, that kept him tethered to a version of himself he didn't quite remember.
---
At the same time, the world was slowly catching up to what had been broken.
It wasn’t just the dreams. It wasn’t just Iris anymore, either.
It was the others. The way they felt him missing.
---
Leonard snorted as he threw a mug into the sink, the echo of its crash making his heart squeeze. Julian was silent beside him. Neither said a word, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You feel it too?” Leonard finally asked, his voice hoarse.
Julian didn't answer immediately.
“I don't remember him either," Julian said, eyes still staring into the void. "But I—”
He stopped. It wasn’t the words that hurt the most. It was the feeling—the strange, foreign sense of knowing someone so intimately but having no idea why or how.
"Don’t we all?" Leonard finished.
---
Meanwhile, Mick was getting slightly drunker than usual in the kitchen, spinning the same empty bottle. His face was lit by the fridge light, and his eyes were distant.
Cisco, standing across from him, caught his gaze. “Hey, what’s up with you? You look... lost. You okay?”
“I’m just tired, Cisco,” Mick replied with a sigh. “Tired of pretending this isn’t killing us.”
---
It was Iris who first said it out loud, though. The truth none of them wanted to hear.
They were sitting in the West household, the TV flashing with nonsense in the background. The air was thick with unspoken words as she finally turned to them.
“I dreamt of Barry again,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Not... not just the things I used to remember. This... this was different. He was different.”
Joe leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Iris, you sure about this?”
She nodded, but the hesitation was too obvious. “I dreamed of him, Dad. His name... Barry Allen. It felt like home. And yet... it didn’t.”
It hit them all at once—the realization that she wasn’t the only one feeling it. This thing—this deep, gnawing hole inside them—that had always been there, like a shadow they couldn’t place.
“He was real,” Iris whispered, clutching her chest. “He was. I loved him. And yet... I don’t know how we lost him.”
---
Barry didn’t even want to ask the Speed Force. Not when it was already so clear in his mind.
It wasn’t just the names or the faces. It wasn’t even the love he knew Iris had for him. It was something deeper than that.
It was the way he saw time, how it slipped through his fingers like sand in a breeze. How his very existence didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore.
"I should’ve been the one to keep everything together," Barry whispered into the endless, cosmic void.
“Barry…” the Speed Force's voice hummed, soft like the wind through trees.
He was still in the Speed Realm. It wasn’t a real place, not in the sense they could touch it. But it had depth. Depth in a way that made Barry feel like he was drowning, even though he was standing still.
The Speed Force watched him, always. But now, the gaze felt different. It was almost as if she was waiting for him to finally accept what had happened. To embrace the wound that would never heal.
“Stop trying to fix this,” the Speed Force said, voice low, more sorrowful than comforting. “You were meant to be broken. I was meant to love you through it.”
---
John Constantine stood at the edge of the Speed Realm, watching Barry wrestle with himself.
“Not subtle,” John muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You’re never subtle.”
The Speed Force made no reply. But John could feel it. She was... different with Barry. Even now.
“Tell him, then,” John said, his voice quieter than usual. “Tell him the truth.”
The Speed Force didn’t answer, not in words.
---
Back in Central City, in a small, darkened alleyway, the Widowmaker stood.
He was a presence. A shadow.
And with his hand resting on the grip of a gun that never killed, he stared at the chaos unfolding around him. Heroes fighting against forces they didn’t understand. Villains playing their own twisted games.
And all the while, he was watching. Watching for the one person who wasn’t there.
For the person he still couldn’t remember.
It was strange, this gnawing sensation in his chest. This longing.
But it didn’t matter. He was always prepared for whatever came next. Always.
Because he was the Widowmaker.
---
The past, when it came, did not arrive gently.
It slammed into Barry with the force of a thousand lives lost.
He remembered the rain the day STAR Labs truly opened. Cisco had been soaking wet, holding a broken umbrella that looked more like a sad spider. Caitlin had been trying to carry two boxes and balance a coffee tray. Barry... had been invisible.
Just a janitor. Just a blur no one saw.
But Wally—Wally had seen him.
Back then, Wally had no speed. Just drive. Just a bike and a backpack and a dream. He was the first to get it. The storm hadn’t even touched Barry yet. But Wally? Wally had been the lightning rod. Literally.
Barry watched it happen from behind a cleaning cart. Wally, defying physics, getting back up. The storm had cracked the sky—and in its wake, the first ripple of something deeper began.
Barry didn't get his speed until months later.
By then, STAR Labs was a home.
Cisco had taken him in without knowing why. Caitlin gave him actual food. Ronnie taught him how to rewire circuits and not get electrocuted. Julian glared at him like a suspicious cat. Lisa made fun of his shoes. Leonard offered him a coat.
Barry still kept it in a hidden drawer.
Back then, he didn’t think he mattered. He was 19, just… passing through time. They were the ones making history. They were the stars. He was the dust beneath them.
But when the lightning did hit him, Barry didn’t wake up excited.
He woke up screaming. Because something—everything—was wrong.
---
Now, in the Speed Realm, he curled up against the weight of it all.
“I shouldn’t remember this much,” Barry whispered. “I shouldn’t feel this old.”
“You are that old,” the Speed Force murmured.
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, brushing his hair back like a mother. “But you’re still running. And that counts for something.”
---
Back in the real world, Lisa tapped her fingers against the windowpane. Julian stood behind her, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“I think I loved him,” Lisa murmured. “I think I did. I think we all did.”
Julian swallowed hard. “I don’t know what’s worse. Forgetting him, or remembering just enough to miss him.”
---
And across the stars, something cracked.
It wasn’t the timeline.
It wasn’t the multiverse.
It was a single, quiet name, whispered by three voices at once:
Barry.
Leonard.
Julian.
And Lisa.
Each one said it differently—lovingly, longingly, like a prayer, like a curse.
And Barry—58-year-old heart trapped in a 19-year-old body—heard them.
He gasped.
The Speed Force smiled.
“Now we begin again,” she said.
“Do I get to keep them?” Barry asked.
“No,” she said softly. “You get to earn them back.”
And with that, Barry Allen stepped forward—into the storm, into the ache, into the impossible.
A ghost. A boy. A legend reborn.
---
Chapter 22: “Echoes in the Static”
Chapter Text
It was raining over Central City. Not hard. Just a soft drizzle—the kind that felt like a memory, not weather.
Inside an old workshop that used to be a Rogue’s hangout, Leonard Snart stood with gloved hands in his pockets and eyes locked on an old cold gun prototype he hadn’t used in years.
He wasn’t sure why he came here.
Wasn’t sure why he kept freezing split seconds in empty rooms. One tick of the clock. One breath. One heartbeat. And then nothing. Just… silence.
A stillness that didn’t feel like peace.
It felt like something was missing.
“Looking for something?” Julian’s voice cut into the silence. He leaned on the doorframe, wet coat hanging off one shoulder, his tie undone like he forgot he was a respectable man.
Leonard didn’t look at him. “Just playing with ghosts.”
Julian didn’t answer immediately. He just walked forward, hand brushing a broken chair, one eye scanning the walls like he expected to see a shadow sprinting past.
“I’ve been dreaming again,” Julian said quietly. “Him. The pearls. The speed. The damn smile.”
Leonard scoffed. “You too?”
Julian finally looked at him. “Do you remember him?”
“…No.”
“But I miss him.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “Same.”
They didn’t say his name. They didn’t have one. Just pieces. Just glimpses.
A man with hands made for gentleness and destruction. A voice like static and lullabies. A laugh that felt like home, like running barefoot through lightning.
Sometimes Leonard woke up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
Sometimes Julian found his pillow soaked in tears and had no clue why.
And across the city, Lisa Snart was watching old footage from STAR Labs. One grainy frame showed a flash of red and gold. And she swore—swore—she saw him.
Not the Flash.
Him.
The fast boy with curls and stormy eyes who kissed her cheek once and called her “golden girl.”
She blinked, and the footage glitched.
Gone.
---
The streets were slick with rain, shimmering under streetlights like the city itself was crying.
A figure stood atop a nearby rooftop—coattails flaring in the breeze, fedora tilted low, gloved fingers resting near the silver buckle on his waist.
He watched the chaos unfold below.
Police sirens wailed like grieving mothers. Hostages were pressed to their knees inside a crumbling bank. The heroes weren’t here yet.
But he was.
They called him Widowmaker now.
A myth. A whisper. A bullet without a name.
He didn’t wear a mask. He didn’t monologue.
He didn’t kill.
But he never missed.
The wind shifted. The glint of a gun caught his eye. Inside, a criminal was panicking—his fingers tightening around the trigger of a shaking pistol pointed at a child.
Too slow.
The man in the brimmed hat moved like a whisper, like a spell cast mid-exhale.
He aimed.
The shot echoed.
The man dropped, screaming—legs hit. He wouldn’t die. But he’d never hold a weapon again.
And just like that, Widowmaker vanished into the shadows.
—
Later, Wally arrived breathless, the kid safe in his arms.
He blinked at the rooftop—there stood the figure, arms crossed like a statue made of storms.
“Who—?” Wally started.
Widowmaker simply raised a hand.
High-fived him.
And was gone.
Wally stared after him, confused and breathless. “Cool… and terrifying.”
---
Elsewhere, inside the crumbling heart of the Speed Force, Barry Allen stood beneath endless clouds.
His coat was soaked. Pearls clung to his neck like memories.
He wasn’t speaking.
He was crying.
The Codex Infernos pulsed at his side, warm and unreadable.
He’d been studying Latin for three days straight and spiritually sobbing for 90% of it.
John Constantine sighed nearby, lighting a cigarette. “This is a terrible idea. You’re too young for this. And by young, I mean… 58-year-old-young in a 19-year-old body, emotionally unstable, grieving, probably legally dead.”
Barry sniffed. “You’re just mad I look better in pearls.”
John looked at the Speed Force, who was still quietly hovering like a glowing, motherly guardian angel.
“She’s being too nice to you. She never coddled me like that,” John muttered.
The Speed Force glowed brighter. Supportively.
Barry curled tighter into his velvet coat, eyes bloodshot, voice cracking. “I miss my team. I miss Iris. I miss Julian. And Leonard. And—and everything I lost.”
“You’ll get them back,” the Speed Force whispered.
“But they don’t even remember me!” he yelled, voice splitting like thunder.
John stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then make them fall in love with you all over again. Magic is many things, mate—but it isn’t stronger than love. Not really.”
And somewhere, Leonard’s heartbeat faltered.
Somewhere, Julian felt the wind whisper a name he didn’t remember but swore he once kissed.
And somewhere, Wally whispered under his breath:
“…Why does that man feel like home?”
---
The mirror cracked.
Not literally—though the sink in Constantine’s penthouse had seen better days—but figuratively, spiritually, painfully. Barry stared at himself in the antique mirror John had reluctantly let him have.
Not because it was useful.
Because it was haunted. Obviously.
And yet, Barry stood there, dressed in the Widowmaker’s black coat, hat hanging on the rack, pearls still glistening against his throat. His reflection felt like a lie wrapped in mourning silk.
John leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, tie loose. “You’re not sleeping.”
Barry didn’t answer.
“Eating?”
Still no answer.
“Doing anything other than shooting criminals and crying in my mirror like a grief-soaked Victorian heiress?”
Barry snorted. Just barely.
John sighed and stepped forward, placing both hands on Barry’s shoulders. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
“I do,” Barry said quietly. “They don’t remember me. Iris is with Eddie. Cisco laughs without me. Wally... Wally doesn’t even know I’m the one who taught him to run.”
“Memories can be rewritten,” John muttered, “but love?” He jabbed a finger toward Barry’s chest. “That doesn’t just vanish. Not real love.”
Barry’s hands clenched.
“They’ll remember eventually,” John said.
“And if they don’t?” Barry’s voice cracked like lightning. “If I’m always just the guy in the hat? A glitch? A ghost in pearls?!”
John didn’t flinch. He just pulled Barry into a tight, gruff hug.
“You’re my dumbass magical speed son. That’s who you are.”
Barry blinked. “…You just called me your—?”
“You heard me,” John grunted. “I’ve been helping you with Latin spells for weeks, stitching you together with magic, feeding you actual food—”
“You threw toast at me.”
“I’m teaching you!”
Barry laughed. Then sobbed. Then maybe both. “God, I miss them.”
“You’ll find your way back.” John smiled faintly. “And until then, keep dressing like a 1920s vigilante and giving Wally cryptic high-fives. It’s doing wonders for your street cred.”
---
Meanwhile…
Leonard Snart sat on the edge of a rooftop, staring down at Central City.
The sky felt… familiar. The wind smelled like lightning and cinnamon and guilt.
Like something was missing.
“You ever get the feeling,” Leonard asked aloud, “that someone you loved got erased… and the universe just let it happen?”
Julian, beside him, blinked slowly. “Every Tuesday.”
They clinked coffee mugs. Silence stretched.
Neither knew why they were always drawn back to this spot.
Why they both dreamed of a laugh that could crack the speed of sound.
Or why, sometimes, they woke up missing someone they’d never met.
Julian stared at the stars.
“…I miss my fast wife.”
Leonard didn’t question it.
“…Yeah. Me too.”
---
It was raining.
Because of course it was. The kind of cinematic, dramatic downpour that soaked you in nostalgia and made even traffic lights weep.
Wally stood frozen in the alley, the hostage still shaking in his arms. She was okay. Breathing. Alive.
But the man who had held the gun to her?
Shot in the leg.
Clean, precise, non-lethal. Magic-laced.
The crowd didn’t see where it came from—but Wally did. Just a glimpse.
A figure in black. Brimmed hat. A brooch in the shape of a lightning bolt. Pearl chain glistening even in the storm.
The man turned, gave Wally the slightest nod, then high-fived him in passing.
No words.
Just that touch.
And it was like—
Memory.
Electric and aching and familiar.
Wally blinked. “Wait…”
But the man was gone. Not speed. Not teleportation.
Something else.
Magic.
---
Elsewhere…
Barry was back in John’s apartment. Wet. Tired. Still in full Widowmaker attire, leaving muddy footprints on the rug.
John didn’t yell.
He just handed him a cup of tea. “You saw Wally.”
Barry nodded. “He looked at me like he almost knew. It hurt.”
“You could tell him.”
“No. Not yet. It’s not time. Not until they remember me because they feel it. Not just because I say so.”
John tilted his head. “You're putting a lot of faith in feelings.”
“I have to.” Barry’s voice cracked. “Because I’m scared that if I don’t… if I force it… I’ll ruin what little pieces of us are still left.”
John handed him a dry towel, like a grumpy dad. “You’re doing better than I did when I was erased from history. I just hexed the Queen’s dog and got drunk in Morocco.”
Barry actually chuckled. “Thanks, Dad Constantine.”
John froze. Then groaned. “Bloody hell. I liked it better when you sobbed in Latin.”
---
At the same time…
Julian and Leonard weren’t talking. They were sitting in the back of Jitters like two men deeply in love but not ready to say it out loud. The barista gave them a discount. No one knew why.
“I had a dream last night,” Julian said softly. “We were married. To the same man.”
Leonard blinked. “Did he have pearls?”
“...Yes.”
A long pause.
“I think I love him.”
Leonard stared into his coffee. “Yeah. Me too.”
They didn’t need to say his name.
They could feel him in the thunder.
---
Chapter 23: “Anchors and Agonies”
Chapter Text
Barry hadn’t spoken in two days.
Not a word. Not a whisper.
The speed force wasn’t speaking either—not through time flashes or temperature shifts or flickering lights. Just... silence. And silence, when you’re tied to the fabric of all speed, is deafening.
He didn’t sleep. Not really. His mind raced even when his body was still.
They don’t remember me.
Julian doesn’t remember the mornings.
Leonard doesn’t remember the stupid gold ring we wore around our necks.
Iris remembers... and she’s smiling less every day.
He didn’t cry anymore. It had crossed the threshold of grief into numbness. A quiet agony that settled behind his eyes like fogged glass.
---
John Constantine knew something was wrong.
It started with how Barry didn’t flinch when the tea was scalding hot. Or when a mirror shattered in his hand. Or when a demon dragged its claws across his shoulder and he just let it.
“Alright, that’s enough,” John snapped. “You’re grieving like a bloody martyr and I’m sick of watching you rot.”
Barry didn’t look up.
“You want to punish yourself because you think you broke time? Fine. But don’t expect me to play grief-nanny while you speed-run yourself into emotional oblivion.”
Still, nothing.
“SAY SOMETHING, Barry.”
Barry looked up, eyes dead behind the blue. “…Do you think I deserve to come back?”
John froze.
Oh. That was worse than crying.
“…You didn’t kill the memories, mate.”
“But I broke the story.”
John set his glass down harder than necessary. The speed force stirred in the room, air flickering like heatwaves.
“Oh don’t you get huffy with me,” he snapped at the unseen force. “You chose him. You threw him into timelines like spaghetti on a wall and now you wanna act smug while he forgets how to feel?”
The walls vibrated.
John smirked. “Good. Be mad. Maybe you’ll do something useful for once instead of monologuing in lightning.”
The speed force lashed. A crack of electricity arced across the ceiling.
Barry didn’t even blink.
John finally saw it. He wasn’t just sad. He was fading. Spiritually. Emotionally. A man without an anchor.
So John did the one thing the speed force couldn’t.
He dug through Hell for a spell.
---
A week later, John's fingers were cracked, bloodied, and ink-stained, the anchor spell glowing softly on his desk.
“A tether,” he whispered. “To root memory through love, time, and belief. Let them feel you, even when they don’t know why.”
Barry sat beside him. Quiet. Watching. Eyes hollow.
John turned to him.
“If this works... they’ll start to remember without knowing why. Pieces. Feelings. Phantom memories.”
Barry stared at the glowing script.
“Do I have to do anything?”
John met his eyes.
“Yeah. You have to want to live through it.”
---
April 23rd, 2017
John Constantine hadn’t slept in 43 hours.
The flat was a mess of half-burned runes, empty whiskey bottles, spell books that bled when you opened them, and charred feathers from a failed attempt at summoning an archangel (“Uptight bastards,” he muttered).
Barry hadn’t moved from the windowsill in 3 days. Still dressed in his “Widowmaker” gear—brimmed hat on the table, gloves off, pearls around his neck. A quiet ghost in a young man’s body. Watching time pass like it owed him something.
Every so often he whispered names under his breath.
Julian.
Leonard.
Wally.
Cisco.
Mom.
Dad.
And always, the same line:
“Do you think they’d cry if I died again?”
John didn’t answer that one anymore. He couldn’t.
But he could fix it.
Even if it meant going to Earth-666.
---
It wasn’t a polite meeting.
Lucifer Morningstar looked thrilled to see John, which meant John was already in trouble.
“Well if it isn’t Constantine,” the devil purred, lounging like sin incarnate in his red-lit penthouse. “What hellish problem brings you crawling to my rooftop? Need a favor? A soul? A better tan?”
John lit a cigarette. “I need a sigil. One of yours. Divine permission, celestial-grade. I’m anchoring a soul to memory.”
Lucifer blinked. “...You what?”
“I’m bringing Barry Allen back.”
The devil’s brow raised. “Isn’t he already alive?”
“He’s breathing,” John muttered. “He’s not living.”
Lucifer walked over, gaze sharp. “You’re talking about the speedster... the one Fate tried to erase. The one the Speed Force keeps on a leash like some cosmic orphan.”
John didn’t deny it.
“He’s cracking,” John whispered. “He looks nineteen, but his soul is fifty-eight. No one remembers him. Not even his bloody team. He’s trying to hold on, but... he’s slipping.”
Lucifer tilted his head. “So you want to cheat fate. Again.”
“I’m not asking you to cheat,” John said quietly. “I’m asking you to permit it.”
Lucifer was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled.
“I met Barry once. He was kind. Offered to pay for a stranger’s drink without knowing they were the devil.”
A pause.
“I rather liked him.”
He snapped his fingers.
A glowing sigil flared into existence, hovering above his palm.
“I’m giving you one shot, John. Screw it up, and you’ll owe me a very interesting favor.”
John snatched the sigil.
“Already do.”
---
Back on Earth-1, Barry hadn’t moved. His head was resting against the glass, breath fogging the window as lightning twitched in his fingers without control.
“I saw a version of me,” he mumbled. “He was happy. He had kids. A team. A future.”
John unrolled the spell slowly on the table. The ink glowed with a soft, pulsing gold. Lucifer’s sigil marked the final corner, like a divine stamp of rebellion.
“You’re gonna get it back,” John said.
Barry didn’t answer.
So John whispered something only the Speed Force could hear:
“Even gods can’t fix a broken heart. But I’ll give the bastard a chance.”
---
It was almost midnight when John drew the last line of the spell in blood, ash, and ink made from stardust and spite.
The room was silent—too silent. Barry stood behind him, arms crossed, still in his worn black coat, hair messy, eyes dim. The way he tilted his head slightly made it clear:
He recognized the spell.
Every syllable. Every breath.
“John...” Barry murmured, voice rasping. “You’re casting the Anchor Ritual. That’s divine class magic. That’s forbidden.”
John didn’t look up.
“Yeah. And?”
“The Speed Force won’t let you finish it.”
“I know.”
Barry stepped forward, panic creeping in. “If you screw this up, you’ll die. You’ll get unmade, John—ripped apart by lightning and lost in time!”
John lit his cigarette anyway. “I’ve died worse.”
And then he began.
Words rolled off his tongue like thunder through stone. Each syllable cracked reality’s shell just a bit more.
Barry flinched with every line, feeling the Speed Force stir. It was a presence—a hum in his bones, a storm behind his ribs. And it was not pleased.
The walls flickered.
The sky outside rumbled.
The sigil Lucifer gave flared gold, then red, then something Barry couldn’t name.
John didn’t stop.
“By the name of the fallen star and the still heart, by the blood of the remembered and the forgotten—let the world remember the lost name of Barry Allen.”
The sigil exploded in light.
Barry screamed—not in pain, but in overwhelm. His body shook as everything came back. His childhood. His team. The love. The betrayal. The laughter. The funeral. The reset.
His entire life snapped back into his soul like a slingshot.
And then?
Silence.
John collapsed.
Barry caught him.
---
April 24th, 2017.
Morning.
The world woke up differently.
TVs flickered on in hospitals, homes, bars, and satellite stations. News anchors were crying. People across the globe had the same phrase echoing in their heads
The Flash.
He existed. He was real. We lost him.
In STAR Labs, Wally dropped his coffee mug. “I—what the hell—?”
Cisco sat up straight, his nose bleeding slightly. “Barry?”
Iris dropped her phone, whispering, “Oh my God, I remember our engagement. I remember the lightning. I remember—him.”
Leonard and Julian—worlds apart, haunted—woke up gasping, hands over their hearts, eyes wide with unbearable grief and sudden clarity.
And outside? In the shadows?
The Widowmaker stood on a rooftop, watching the sun rise.
He didn’t wear his mask that morning.
He let the world see him.
Just for a second.
And then he vanished.
---
It started small. A flicker. A flash. A name whispered at 5:03 a.m.
But by 7:00?
The entire planet was having a collective identity crisis.
---
Star City – Team Arrow HQ
Oliver Queen hadn’t touched coffee since Barry’s death. Now he was chugging it like holy water.
“I remember...everything,” he muttered.
Dinah dropped her staff. “How did we forget him?!”
Felicity was typing like her laptop was on fire. “Okay, either the world was gaslit by cosmic forces... or reality’s just been hacked. By a literal wizard. Again.”
Rene blinked. “Wait. Barry Allen was The Flash? Was?”
Oliver just stared at the skyline.
“We left him.”
---
Central City – STAR Labs
Wally was pacing. Fast.
Cisco was bleeding from the nose again, goggles on. “I vibed the moment the spell hit. You know what I saw? Time bleeding. Like, bleeding bleeding. Barry’s anchor spell ripped a hole in the void so loud the Speed Force winced.”
Caitlin? Frozen midstep.
Iris? Crying. Laughing. Crying again. “He remembered me. He never stopped.”
Ronnie held Rowan tighter. “So where is he?”
---
Elsewhere – An Alley, Post-Anchor
Barry Allen was tweaking.
Trembling fingers. Ripped coat. Eyes wide and red. Pacing in circles.
“They remember me. They REMEMBER ME,” he muttered, voice cracking. “Oh my god. I’m a ghost—I'm the haunting.”
John Constantine was trying not to have a nicotine-induced breakdown. He lit another cigarette anyway.
“Barry. Barry. Breathe. You’re not a ghost. You’re a cosmic speed god with abandonment issues and really pretty cheekbones. Get your head on.”
“I was a myth, John. Now I’m history again. I don’t know what to DO with that!”
“You get therapy, you get hugs, and you stop making my spellwork look like a bloody Pixar short!”
The Speed Force pulsed in the background. Not angry.
Just… tired.
Like a cosmic parent who gave up on bedtime rules long ago.
---
Cut to Cisco, goggles flaring
“...I’m gonna try to vibe into the Speed Realm. Maybe I can talk to it. Maybe—I don’t know—bribe it with better PR?”
Julian, in the corner, muttered darkly, “You can bribe a force of nature now?”
Lisa laughed, almost tearfully. “You’ve met the Speed Force? Of course you can. It probably likes cinnamon rolls.”
Cisco smiled. “Then it’s gonna love what I’m bringing.”
---
Cisco Ramon succeeded. Which, honestly? Surprised everyone, especially Cisco.
One moment he was in STAR Labs holding onto his multiversal lunch, and the next?
He was in.
---
The Speed Realm was nothing like he imagined.
A sprawling estate. Gleaming marble stairs. Golden columns spiraling toward stars that bent sideways. Cherry blossoms blooming in 4K slow-motion. A patio so bougie it screamed, “I'm a divine concept and I’m tax-free.”
On a chaise lounge, sipping tea from a chalice like a judgmental grandmother, was the Speed Force—looking exactly like Nora Allen, complete with that “you’ve disappointed me again” energy.
She did not stand.
She simply... tilted her head. “Oh. You’re early.”
Cisco blinked. “I—uh—I brought cinnamon rolls?”
---
Not far off, Barry was full on spiraling. Circling like a hawk on Red Bull, pacing with a tear-streaked face and trembling hands.
“They all remember me. Why now?! Why THIS way? I wasn’t ready! I'm NEVER ready!”
John Constantine—jacket rumpled, tie askew, cigarette somehow still lit—was holding a glowing anchor sigil in one hand and a flask in the other.
“You’re fine,” he snapped. “You’re not dying. You’re being remembered. It’s uncomfortable. Like emotions. Deal.”
“I TOLD you the Speed Force would be mad!”
“She’s not mad, she’s just British-level passive aggressive. Look at her.”
Barry risked a glance.
Nora. Speed Force. Lounging. Sipping tea.
“Mum’s just vibing,” Constantine muttered.
---
Then came Lucifer Morningstar.
Waltzing across the divine patio like he owned it. In a three-piece suit that probably cost more than Cisco’s apartment, holding a glass of blood-red wine and wearing a grin that could sell sin to angels.
“Johnny boy,” Lucifer purred. “That spell? Deliciously reckless. You do know Amenadiel’s been texting me for three hours straight?”
He raised a hand. A sigil burned into the air, glowing white-gold. “Do you know how rare angelic permission sigils are? They’re Heaven’s VIP passes. You gave a mortal one. To summon me. At brunch.”
Constantine didn’t flinch. “I needed the spell to work.”
“You needed therapy,” Lucifer sassed, taking a seat next to the Speed Force like it was a divine dinner party.
“Also,” he added, sipping his wine, “he’s shaking like a wet chihuahua. Maybe get him a blanket?”
Barry: actively dissociating.
Cisco: staring.
The speed Force carefully sipping replied “He’ll be fine. It’s a lot to remember who you are when no one else could.”
Lucifer the tired wine uncle "So says the force who let him be forgotten.”
Speed Force the tired mother of the wreck “I had to. The timeline was unraveling.”
John simply replied rather passive aggressively “We’re unraveling NOW.”
Cisco, finally breaking his silence: “So just to clarify—Lucifer, like, Devil Lucifer is here. And the Speed Force is a tired mom. And Barry Allen is basically the multiverse’s emotional punching bag.”
Lucifer winked. “You're catching on.”
---
And somewhere, through the veil of energy, Wally West blinked.
He could feel something.
Something familiar. Something that ran like hope.
A whisper in his bones.
“Barry.”
---
Chapter 24: “This Is Not Cute”
Chapter Text
---
“Okay, Barry!”
Cisco stood at the center of the Speed Realm like a guy who'd just walked into his own therapy session, hands thrown up, voice echoing off cosmic marble. “Stop being afraid and come home, dammit!”
The Speed Force blinked. Lucifer clapped slowly.
Barry choked on his own anxiety.
---
Meanwhile, back at STAR Labs…
Leonard Snart was pacing like a man on trial. In rapid-fire Russian. Each word was sharper than the last, like he was scolding the universe itself.
Lisa Snart, ever the drama queen with a heart of glitter and daggers, was raging back in Russian. Somehow louder.
The argument sounded like two cats fighting over designer shoes.
Caitlin Snow, standing in the middle like a translator who did not get paid enough, muttered, “Okay... Leonard just said he’s going to freeze the Speed Force’s kidneys—wait, kidneys don’t even—uh—never mind.”
“Lisa just said she’s going to suplex Time.”
“Oh. Now Len just called the Speed Force a soap bubble with an attitude problem.”
Kara was holding a popcorn bucket that wasn’t there thirty seconds ago. “This is better than Earth-38 daytime television.”
“Can they keep going?” asked Zari, leaning forward. “I just cleared my afternoon for this.”
“Wait, wait,” said Dinah. “Lisa just called Barry a ‘stupid, fast, emotionally constipated glitter tornado’? Oh my god, that’s poetry.”
Iris, arms folded and teary-eyed, whispered, “...That’s not far off.”
Caitlin groaned. “Guys. This is NOT cute.”
Lisa pointed at her. “Eto ochen' ne milyy!” (“THIS IS NOT CUTE!”)
Len barked, “YA sobirayus' razmorozit' samo vremya!”
(“I’m going to unfreeze time itself!”)
Caitlin blinked. “Okay. I’m pretty sure that was an actual threat against the entire concept of chronology.”
Cisco’s voice crackled through the comms. “Hey, if any of you are gonna punch time, at least wait until I’m back, please.”
---
Back in the Speed Realm
Barry had stopped pacing.
Stopped shaking.
His lips were parted like he was breathing in something old and familiar.
Cisco looked at him gently, voice steadier now. “You’re allowed to come home. You're allowed to be loved. You’re allowed to stop running.”
Barry’s voice cracked. “What if they don’t want me anymore?”
Cisco gave him the most exhausted best-friend stare ever recorded in multiversal history. “Dude. Leonard is threatening time in Russian. Lisa’s re-decorating the timeline with glittery rage. And Caitlin has translated ‘This is not cute’ seventeen times.”
Lucifer smirked. “I believe he’s saying: shut up and go cry in your boyfriend’s arms.”
Barry sniffled. “I don’t know which one.”
The Speed Force muttered into her tea, “Frankly, neither do I.”
---
---
Speed Realm – Now with Extra Parental Energy
“Alright, that’s it,” John Constantine groaned, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to fistfight God. “I’m draggin’ this speed-addicted emotional muppet out myself.”
Barry blinked from where he was curled up on a cosmic chaise lounge, clutching his knees like a Victorian widow. “...Excuse me?”
Lucifer Morningstar, looking stunning and unbothered in a silk shirt and slacks too expensive for existence, was carefully packing his things into a celestial duffel bag.
“I’m going with you, Johnny,” Lucifer muttered. “Amenadiel’s looking for me and he’s mad. Like, not mad-mad, angel mad. The kind that includes sermons, side-eyes, and eternal sibling disappointment.”
John rolled his eyes. “Join the bloody club.”
Behind them, the Speed Force appeared. Today, she looked like a glowing, elegant woman in flowing robes, sipping tea like the world's sassiest PTA mom.
“You can take him,” she said calmly. “Drag him home. Ground him. Smack him with emotional closure if you need. Just bring him back.”
Barry sputtered. “Wait, wait, I didn’t agree to—!”
“Did I ask?” the Speed Force deadpanned, raising one glowing brow.
---
Back at STAR Labs – The Chaos Olympics Continue
Dante Ramon walked in with a tray full of coffee cups and zero expectations.
Behind him?
Three versions of Harrison Wells, arguing over whose scarf was best and which of them remembered Barry first.
“Wow,” Dante said, sipping his own coffee. “I leave for three days and y’all turn into a telenovela.”
“A Russian telenovela,” Caitlin muttered, pointing to the corner where Lisa and Leonard Snart were screaming in synchronized Slavic fury. Honestly, it was like ballet if ballet involved death threats and emotional repression.
Wally and Jesse stood at the side—phones out, recording like proud little gremlins.
“This is going viral,” Jesse whispered. “Team Snart: full Slavic meltdown edition.”
“Caption it ‘Ice Cold Love Language,’” Wally said with a grin.
Julian, meanwhile, was on the couch. With popcorn. Because of course he was.
“Do we know if this is supposed to be a family reunion or a cosmic exorcism?” he asked, popping a kernel in his mouth.
“Bit of both,” said Dante, passing him a caramel latte.
In the middle of it all, baby Rowan Snow giggled uncontrollably, tiny hands clapping as Caitlin frantically tried to translate in real time.
“She just said—Lisa said that Barry’s a ‘ghost husband with unresolved guilt’—no, wait—Len just said he wants to personally ice-skate into the Speed Realm and kick Barry’s—okay I’m done.”
Caitlin groaned and slumped against the wall. “I’m a doctor, not a therapist for emotionally damaged Russians!”
Dante raised his cup in salute. “To family trauma and magical time travel.”
The three Wells harmonized, “Cheers!”
---
Meanwhile, back in the Speed Realm...
Cisco sat next to Barry again, patting his shoulder like a man comforting a very fast, very nervous poodle.
“Buddy,” he said gently, “they’re all losing their minds. And honestly? You should be there for it. It’s like Thanksgiving but with more yelling and fewer pies.”
Barry hiccupped through the remains of a panic attack. “Are we sure I should go back?”
Lucifer slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and smirked. “Oh, darling. You’ve got three almost-husbands, a cosmic mom, and a team that acts like they were raised by wolves. Of course you should go back.”
John cracked his knuckles. “And if you don’t, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and teleportin’ your dramatic ass straight into Julian’s lap.”
“...That’s a threat.”
“That’s a promise, sweetheart.”
---
---
The Cortex – STAR Labs, Present Time
With a crackling shimmer, a golden breach opened like the universe yawning mid-scream. Out stepped Cisco Ramon, cool as ever in a Vibe jacket that screamed “I told you nerds I could do it,” followed closely by John Constantine, smelling like cigarettes, spellwork, and exasperated British tolerance.
Then came Barry Allen.
And he was dressed.
Sharp three-piece suit in deep charcoal, black shirt, matching tie—looking like he’d just come from a funeral but still wanted to serve devastatingly handsome ghost realness. Hair slicked. Face dead serious. Eyes quietly panicked. The only thing missing was a dramatic wind gust to blow his coat for maximum angst.
They stepped into the Cortex...
And were met with the scene from hell.
“YA UBIT' TEBYA, LENNY!” Lisa Snart screamed at the top of her lungs.
“YA UMER, LISA!” Leonard roared back. “I WAS DEAD AND YOU BOUGHT A SKATE PARK IN MY HONOR—”
“YOU DESERVED IT!”
“IT’S CALLED “COLD KICKS” WHAT THE HELL?!”
Meanwhile, Joe and Iris West stood on the sidelines, both looking like they were seriously debating whether to grab slippers, a frying pan, or divine intervention. Their faces read: we raised no one for this.
Eddie, Jesse, and Wally were on a couch with matching expressions of gleeful goblinhood, all phones out, recording with perfect commentary.
“Get the subtitles on this one, Jesse,” Eddie whispered. “I want this on TikTok by tomorrow.”
“Already live-streaming,” she whispered back.
H.R., chaos incarnate and fed by drama, was on the floor with a foam finger that said GO TEAM. He high-fived Wally mid-laugh.
Dante Ramon and the Three Wells? Standing together, sipping coffee in unison like some twisted off-Broadway barbershop quartet. Dante nodded solemnly to Cisco like, you did this. You unleashed this beast.
Kara? She stole Julian’s popcorn. And Julian? Didn’t even care. Still eating. Emotionally dead inside but so invested.
Ronnie Raymond was standing quietly near the back, holding baby Rowan like a calming teddy bear while Caitlin spiraled nearby.
“I CAN’T TRANSLATE THAT FAST,” Caitlin wailed, slamming a folder on a desk. “DO YOU HEAR HOW FAST THEY’RE TALKING? I SPEAK FLUENT ANGRY SLAVIC AND EVEN I’M BEHIND!”
“Baba Yaga could walk in and I wouldn’t blink,” Julian muttered, calmly popping another handful of popcorn.
And then—
Barry Allen opened his mouth.
“…What the actual f—?”
The room froze.
Cisco stared. “Did you just—?”
John looked proud. “He’s growing up so fast.”
Lisa Snart whipped around, hair like a shampoo commercial in rage. “WAIT A MINUTE.”
Leonard Snart stopped mid-sentence. “Oh my God—”
Caitlin gasped. “No—no no no—”
Iris dropped her mug. Joe choked on air.
Wally whispered, “He’s hot.”
Jesse nodded. “He is hot.”
Julian dropped the popcorn. “BLOODY HELL.”
Barry blinked. “…Hi?”
And Lisa?
She SCREAMED. “I KNEW YOU WEREN’T DEAD YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED TIME-WRECKING GHOST BOYFRIEND!”
Leonard passed out. Just flatlined. Boom.
Cisco leaned toward Barry and muttered, “This is what you came back to. Not even Armageddon. This.”
Barry didn’t know whether to cry or run.
John patted him on the back. “Welcome home, love.”
---
---
“I didn’t want to die,” Barry whispered. His voice was so quiet, so fragile, it nearly vanished in the buzz of the cortex’s ambient electricity. “I didn’t want to be forgotten. I just wanted to save Wally.”
Time slowed.
Leonard Snart stepped forward, his boots echoing ominously against the metal floor. His jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from ice. Everyone held their breath.
“I know,” Leonard said.
Then he punched Barry across the face.
It was clean. Brutal. Raw.
Barry staggered back, one hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with stunned betrayal.
“I waited four years,” Leonard snapped, voice shaking, cracking, unraveling. “Four years of your face in every hallway. Every broken clock. Every red light. Four years of watching Lisa rewrite your goddamn obituary every time she remembered a new fact about your dumb self-sacrificing personality—!”
“Len—” Barry tried.
“Don’t,” Lisa cut in, stepping beside her brother. “You don’t get to ‘Len’ him like nothing happened. I lit a candle every damn day for four years thinking something might click. That I’d remember something else. That someone would. I knew you. I loved you. And I couldn’t remember your name.”
Ronnie passed Rowan to Caitlin and stepped back.
“You gave your life,” Caitlin said, arms trembling slightly. “And you took our memories with you. I saw a file with your name and couldn’t recognize your handwriting. Your signature felt foreign.”
Joe’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, eyes full of a father’s grief.
“I raised you. You were my son. But I didn’t remember until yesterday. Yesterday. I stared at your face on the news and I still didn’t believe it until Cisco vibed you back into reality.”
“I had to go,” Barry said softly. “If I hadn’t—”
“Don’t you dare,” Iris snapped, fists balled at her side. “You don’t get to justify making all of us forget you. I grieved you twice. First for losing you. Second when I realized I never knew you at all.”
Mick huffed from the corner. “Honestly, I’m pissed and I don’t even do feelings. You were a damn good partner. You looked out for me, for the Rogues. You got me croissants, Barry. No one else buys me croissants.”
H.R. looked like he was going to cry. Harry looked like he’d rather die than admit he almost was.
“Barry…” Jesse’s voice cracked as she hugged Wally tighter. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
“I couldn’t,” Barry breathed, choking on the words. “If I said goodbye, I would’ve stayed.”
“And instead you erased yourself from existence,” Dante said, finally speaking. “We had a brother, Cisco. And we forgot.”
Julian had been quiet until now. Standing by the coffee table, arms folded, a calm mask over his face. His voice, when it finally came, was low. Measured. Deadly.
“I watched Cisco cry himself sick two years ago, thinking something was missing. I watched Iris stare at the sky like she was waiting for a ghost. I’ve read the files. I’ve seen the holes. You didn’t just vanish, Barry. You stole yourself from us.”
“I thought—” Barry tried again, but Julian’s words kept coming.
“You are brilliant. Selfless. Infuriating. But you didn’t ask. You just decided. And that’s what makes it worse.”
Barry turned, eyes meeting Cisco’s. The younger man stared at him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His voice was the final blow.
“You were my best friend. You died. And when I needed you the most, you erased yourself from every memory I had left.”
Barry fell silent. His shoulders shook, head bowed, curls tumbling in front of his eyes. He looked like a statue cracked down the middle. Nineteen and fifty-eight all at once. The boy who saved a world. The man who no one remembered saving it.
“I…” Barry’s lips trembled. “I didn’t mean to break everything. I was trying to fix it.”
“And you broke us,” Joe said quietly.
Everyone was silent again.
The only sound in the cortex was baby Rowan babbling softly against Caitlin’s shoulder and the low hum of the tech.
Then—softly—Cisco moved forward.
He touched Barry’s shoulder. A simple gesture. Forgiving. Anchoring.
“You came back,” Cisco said. “Now fix it with us.”
Barry looked up, eyes full of oceans.
And finally, he nodded.
---
---
Little did they know—
Barry couldn’t fix shit.
Sure, he’d come back. But the cost? Oh, the bill hadn’t even started burning yet.
Because what he did—resetting Earth Prime, breaking the rules of temporal and metaphysical balance—hadn’t just cost him memories. No. It broke a law. A cosmic law. A law the Speed Force herself etched in lightning across existence.
And if she wanted to?
She could pull the same damn trick again. Swipe him off the board like a pawn that got too clever. Wipe him from time like white-out on a kindergarten project.
Barry knew it. Felt it. That ticking behind his ribs wasn’t nerves—it was a countdown.
He stood there, surrounded by the people he loved, finally remembered, and knew—deep down—that this was borrowed time.
And John Constantine? He saw it.
He’d seen that look before. That stiff spine, that brave face. That “I’m fine” smirk on someone prepping to be erased again.
Barry Allen was free right now—but for how long?
John stepped forward, lighting a cigarette like it was a ritual, eyes narrowing. This wasn’t his job. Wasn’t his fight. But the kid didn’t deserve this. Not again. Not without someone backing him.
He didn’t even want to say anything.
But it slipped out the second Cisco said, “Fix it with us.”
John sighed. Rolled his eyes like it hurt to care. Then muttered:
“Love, you’re lucky I love you—otherwise I’d never risk my ass like this… all against a literal concept.”
Barry blinked—then smirked. Just a bit. Just enough.
He knew what that meant.
Joe blinked. “Wait… love?”
Everyone froze.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Did… John Constantine just admit feelings?”
Cisco straight-up choked on air. “Okay, you know what? New crisis. Emotional demon alert.”
Lisa quietly muttered “Did we all just collectively hallucinate that?”
Leonard, wiping blood off his knuckles “Didn’t even know he had emotions.”
Harry E-2 simply sighed and quietly spoke up “Oh, he does, he just bottles them in whiskey and regret.”
John waved them all off, snapping, “Oi, piss off, all of you.”
But he didn’t walk away.
He stood right there.
Because this wasn’t just about Barry Allen anymore.
This was about a concept with too much power. A universe that played favorites. A time string so tangled it made John's liver ache.
And for once, maybe—just maybe—it was worth pissing off the Speed Force for the kid who still wanted to save everyone.
Even if it meant being forgotten all over again.
---
Chapter 25: “The World Remembers (Mostly)”
Chapter Text
April 29, 2017
---
The world remembered The Flash. Not Barry Allen. Not the nerdy CSI with a tragic backstory and a heart of platinum guilt. Just The Flash. Red lightning, heroics, a blurred face in motion.
But the team?
Oh, the team remembered Barry.
And that made things…weird.
Nora and Henry Allen were alive.
Because this was a reset world, a second chance that cracked all the laws of time and consequence. They lived in Central City again, unaware of the child they’d raised and lost in the original timeline. They knew of the Flash. They didn’t know their son wore the mask.
Barry stood outside their door for two hours before turning around and walking away.
Iris saw it. She didn’t say a word about it until later. And then, she said everything.
“I loved you, Barry. I love you. But you didn’t give me the chance to fight for you. You didn’t even say goodbye.”
Eddie stood beside her, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched—not at Barry, not entirely.
“You let us mourn a ghost,” Iris whispered, “without knowing who we were mourning.”
Barry said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say.
---
Meanwhile, chaos found its own corner in the cortex.
Barry held baby Rowan for the first time. The tiny boy, all soft curls and wide eyes, blinked up at him—and smiled. No crying. No screaming. Just tiny baby hands gripping Barry’s hoodie like a chosen one had returned.
“Welp,” Caitlin blinked. “He likes you.”
Ronnie tilted his head. “That’s rare.”
“Congratulations,” Lisa deadpanned. “You’ve passed the Rowan Vibe Check.”
Julian, sipping coffee, nodded with approval. “He has taste.”
---
Now, Constantine? Constantine was a problem.
Apparently, nearly losing Barry to metaphysical oblivion unlocked something in that emotionally constipated trenchcoat-wearing disaster.
He kept hoarding Barry.
Dragging him on long walks through the city, then other cities, then realms. Bought him an expensive dagger from a cursed Spanish warlock (Barry was like: “John, it whispers at me”).
He kept calling Barry “love” and “sunbeam” and “my little walking paradox” in front of the entire team.
Mick nearly choked on his beer.
Wally flat-out walked into a wall.
Cisco developed an eye twitch.
Caitlin whispered, “Is this what British foreplay looks like?”
Len: “No, British foreplay usually involves bad decisions, alcohol, and grave robbing.”
Julian (who was British): “You’re not wrong.”
Lisa: “I’m so confused and somehow more invested than I should be.”
---
Back at STAR Labs, people were not okay.
Cisco pulled up a screen and sighed. “Okay, so the world only knows the Flash. But we know Barry Allen. Which means, technically, our boy is both the world’s savior and its secret ghost.”
Harry grumbled from the corner, “This entire reality is a goddamn paradox smoothie.”
HR nodded, cheerfully sipping coffee. “Yup. Tastes like chaos.”
---
Somewhere across the city…
Barry and Constantine sat on the edge of a rooftop.
“I saw you,” John said suddenly. “Back when the Speed Force was trying to erase you. I saw you preparing to go. You were ready to vanish.”
Barry looked at him. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t,” John muttered. “But then you had to go and smile at me, and now I’ve committed interdimensional crimes to keep your sparkly ass alive. So now we’re both screwed.”
Barry snorted. “You bought me a demon’s engagement ring last week, John.”
“Not my fault it matched your eyes, love.”
---
Team Flash?
Still emotionally recovering.
But Barry Allen was here.
Remembered.
Held by some.
Missed by many.
Loved by more than he expected.
But the clock was still ticking.
The Speed Force?
She was watching.
And she was smiling.
But the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
---
Chapter 26: “Speed Telenovela”
Chapter Text
May 1, 2017
---
Joe West had spent his whole life trying to prepare for conversations like this.
Heavy talks. Fatherly moments. Grief. Love. Second chances.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared him for this one.
“So,” he said, shifting on his feet while watching Barry sit at the edge of a console, legs swinging slightly like a guilty kid on the principal’s bench. “You gonna meet your parents?”
Barry didn’t look up. “They’re not my parents. Not really.”
“They have the same hearts,” Joe said gently. “Same smiles. Same bad cooking habits.”
Barry snorted. “Mom always overcooked chicken. I missed that.”
There was a pause. The room felt too big for the words.
“They deserve to meet you,” Joe added.
Barry finally nodded. “I’ll try.”
But he didn’t sound convinced.
---
Two hours later:
The meeting took place in STAR Labs because where else do you introduce your resurrected self to your parents from a rebooted timeline while the literal embodiment of speed looks on like an approving but exhausted guardian deity?
Right. STAR Labs. Naturally.
Henry Allen, alive and vibrant, clapped Barry on the back the second he saw him. “The Flash,” he said proudly, not knowing the weight of the name.
Nora Allen hugged him. Not knowing it was him.
Not knowing why she felt like she should cry.
And that’s when the Speed Force stepped in.
She looked like Nora. An older version. Braided locs wrapped in gold, eyes like red lightning and timeworn kindness. She walked into the room like she owned it. Which, technically, she did.
Nora Allen blinked. “I…look like her?”
The Speed Force tilted her head. “Or maybe I look like you.”
Everyone blinked.
Leonard deadpanned, “Speed. Telenovela.”
Cisco choked.
Lisa burst out laughing.
Julian sipped tea like he wasn’t holding in panic.
Caitlin whispered to Ronnie, “Why does she look like she’s going to ground him?”
Ronnie: “Because she probably is.”
---
Barry was tweaking.
He stood between his parents and the literal cosmic force that had raised, haunted, and traumatized him since birth.
The Speed Force stepped closer.
“You thought I’d let you stay erased,” she said softly.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Barry muttered.
“But I would blame me,” she replied, touching his cheek briefly. “You're not my creation, Barry. You're my kid.”
Everyone in the room felt that. The mom energy. The tired-of-your-dramatic-ass energy. The “I-have-seen-every-version-of-you-and-I-still-love-you” energy.
And standing three feet to the left, of course, was John Constantine.
Smoking like this was just a Tuesday. Arms crossed. Trenchcoat slightly on fire.
“You know I’m technically his legal time-sorcery guardian now,” he muttered. “Do I have to fill out paperwork with you, Miss Force?”
The Speed Force blinked slowly. “He called me Miss Force.”
Nora Allen (real Nora): “What is happening?”
Len whispered to Julian, “I swear to god if Barry cries again, I’m not holding him this time. You hold him.”
Julian: “I held him last week.”
Len: “I was emotionally constipated last week.”
Julian: “You still are emotionally constipated.”
---
Eventually, Barry spoke.
“I don’t belong here,” he said to his parents. “I’m not the son you know.”
“But you’re someone’s son,” Henry said, firm. “And you look like you need us.”
Nora touched his hand gently. “Would you let us…try?”
Barry’s lip trembled.
And Leonard broke first, quietly stepping forward to grab his hand.
Julian followed, reaching up to smooth Barry’s collar.
John? Just waved a protection sigil in the background like a worried dad.
Speed Force nodded approvingly. “He's got a tribe now.”
Barry wiped his face and whispered, “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”
The Speed Force grinned. “Well then, don’t screw it up, dumbass.”
Everyone stared.
Cisco whispered, “Okay, that’s our mom.”
---
Somewhere in the background
Dante and H.R. were filming everything.
Wally and Jesse were passing out tissues.
Baby Rowan blew raspberries.
Mick said, “Can I punch someone now?”
Lisa offered him a juice box.
And somewhere, reality quietly re-threaded itself around Barry Allen, held together by chaos, love, and a hell of a lot of speed-induced melodrama.
---
Chapter 27: “Mending the Past”
Chapter Text
May 3, 2017
The West home had always felt like Barry’s second place. His second chance. His safe haven after a life spent running from one thing to another. But now? It felt like home. The one place where he wasn’t a forgotten ghost, where his name still carried meaning.
Yet, it was odd.
He stepped into the front door like it was just another visit. He could hear the laughter of Wally in the kitchen, the soft hum of music playing in Iris’ office upstairs, and the unmistakable sound of coffee brewing. All of it, normal. All of it… right.
But it wasn’t the same.
Barry’s chest tightened with every familiar smell, every soft murmur that came from the house. He had forgotten what it was like to belong here. To be surrounded by the people he loved, without the weight of cosmic erasure hovering over his head.
Iris appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression somewhere between disbelief and hope. Her eyes were wide with an emotion that Barry couldn’t quite place—until she blinked, and it became clear: She was relieved.
“Barry…” Her voice cracked just enough for him to hear the weight of her feelings. “You’re really here.”
Barry’s throat tightened. He hadn’t expected to feel so... lost. Even after everything. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come.
Iris stepped down the stairs, her footsteps light but purposeful. The woman who had been his anchor for years was right in front of him, and yet it felt like there was still a chasm between them. He could hear her voice again, steady but with a subtle tremor.
“You know, after you disappeared…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the kitchen where Wally was pretending to stir something but was obviously listening in. “I kept wondering if you were still out there. If there was something I missed. Something I could have done.”
Barry winced, guilt flooding him like an ocean. "I never wanted to hurt you, Iris. Never."
She nodded, a soft smile ghosting over her lips. “I know. It’s just… when you disappeared, I didn’t know how to go on without you.”
Wally appeared then, a bit awkward but trying to hide it behind a grin. "Yeah, well, it wasn’t the same around here without you. You know, I—uh, I might’ve borrowed your side of the couch a few times when the world was getting to be too much." He offered a playful nudge to Barry’s shoulder, as if everything was normal, as if the last few years of confusion and loss had been erased.
The moment was brief. Too brief. But still, Barry felt it. The love. The acceptance. The healing.
Eddie stepped into the hallway just then, as though he’d been waiting for his cue. He was quiet, his eyes intense but warm. Eddie had always been the most pragmatic of them all, the steady rock when everything felt like it might fall apart. But today, there was something different in his gaze. Something that wasn’t just the cop who had come to terms with his own pain. There was relief in the way Eddie approached Barry, the way he crossed the threshold into this awkward, new version of their lives.
“Barry…” Eddie said, voice low, but steady. “It’s good to have you back.”
Barry opened his mouth again, but the words weren’t there. His heart clenched as his eyes darted to the small family gathered around him. He had failed them. And yet, they were here, giving him a second chance. A chance he didn’t deserve.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” Barry whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to make up for what I did. For what I cost you all.”
Iris reached out, touching his arm with a warmth that settled into his very soul. “You don’t have to fix everything, Barry. We’re here. You’re here. That’s enough.”
But Barry wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if it was ever going to be enough.
---
Wally slipped out of the kitchen, his usual chipper demeanor replaced by an unusual seriousness as he joined Barry on the couch. The silence between them was deafening at first, and then Wally sighed, the exhale so filled with everything they hadn’t spoken about.
“Four years, man,” Wally said softly. “I get it. I understand why you did it. You wanted to fix things, to save me, but...” He trailed off, looking away. "You weren't supposed to leave like that. You were always supposed to be here, with us."
Barry nodded. He had no words, just that deep, aching guilt.
“I know I’m not the only one who’s felt it,” Wally said quietly. “I just need you to know, I’m not mad, Barry. I’m... I’m just glad you’re back. And that you’re alive.”
Barry swallowed, fighting back tears. "I’ll make it right. I swear I will."
---
It was hard. Every minute was harder than the last. He had returned, yes. He was alive, and that alone felt like a thousand-pound weight was finally lifting off his chest. But how do you pick up the pieces of a life that you’ve shattered into a thousand fragments? How do you make up for the years of absence, the broken promises, the lives that moved on without him?
And worst of all, how do you live with the knowledge that you might be the reason some of those pieces can never be fully fixed?
---
– A Moment Alone
After a heavy silence hung in the West home, Barry stepped outside to the backyard, his footsteps unsteady as though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The scent of fresh grass mixed with the faint smell of coffee still lingered in the air. He just needed a moment—just a minute to breathe, to collect himself, and, maybe, figure out how to start putting things back together.
Wally followed him quietly, his sneakers barely making a sound on the grass as he caught up.
“Hey,” Wally said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “You okay?”
Barry ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground before meeting Wally’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to make it right, Wally.”
Wally took a deep breath, standing beside Barry, not saying a word, just giving him that space.
“I should’ve been there for you,” Barry continued, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. “I know I wasn’t. I failed you. You were out there, and I was… gone. I wasn’t supposed to leave you, Wally. I promised.”
Wally shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Barry, you’re here now. That’s what matters. You didn’t abandon me.” His voice was steady, the weight of the last few years sitting between them, but it was clear he was trying to comfort Barry as much as Barry was trying to comfort him.
But Barry could see it. He could see the cracks in Wally’s smile. Wally was strong, but he wasn’t invincible. He’d been through hell, too, just like Barry.
“You didn’t know, Wally,” Barry said, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “You had to deal with all of this alone. I should’ve been here. I should’ve been fighting beside you.”
Wally exhaled sharply, his hands in his pockets. “You think I didn’t feel that? I mean, I’ve been through my own stuff, you know? But the hardest part wasn’t even losing you—it was not knowing if you were coming back. Not having any answers, Barry.”
Barry’s heart tightened. He took a small step toward Wally, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel like you were alone in this."
Wally’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yeah, well, sometimes life doesn’t give us any choices. But you’re here now, and that’s what counts. We can figure this out together.” He grinned, shaking his head slightly. “But you’re gonna have to make it up to me.”
Barry raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping him. “Oh yeah? How?”
Wally leaned in, his expression half-serious, half-joking. “You owe me a full day of being my personal chauffeur. No speedster tricks, just you, me, and a car.”
Barry laughed, the weight in his chest easing just a little. “I can do that. That’s a pretty low price for forgiveness, don’t you think?”
Wally’s grin widened. “Nope. I’m cashing in on this debt for as long as I can.”
Barry chuckled again, feeling a warmth spread through him. This was what he’d missed. This was what he’d lost when he was erased from everyone’s lives. The easy conversations, the little moments that meant more than any speed chase or fight against some villain.
Wally was like a brother to him. He had been since day one. And now, standing here with him, Barry realized just how much he’d taken that relationship for granted.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Barry said softly, his tone serious now, as if to remind both of them that this was real. “I’m not leaving you again. We’re in this together.”
Wally nodded, the lightness in his voice still there, but his expression softened. “I know. I know you are, Barry. And I’m glad you’re back.”
The two stood in comfortable silence for a while, the moment unspoken but understood. The weight between them hadn’t entirely disappeared, but it was starting to lift. One step at a time.
Finally, Barry spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “You know… when I was out there, when I was gone—I was just thinking about you the whole time. You were the reason I kept pushing, kept fighting to come back. I never wanted you to feel like you were on your own.”
Wally looked at Barry, his expression softening. “You were always in my head, Barry. I never gave up on you. I just had to keep going, you know? Like you would’ve wanted me to. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.”
Barry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Wally. I really am.”
Wally clapped him on the back. “You’re here now. We’re good. That’s all that matters.”
They shared another quiet moment before Wally’s grin returned, cheeky and bright. “But seriously. The car. I want a convertible. No excuses.”
Barry laughed, the sound filling the empty space around them. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay. He had his family back. They had each other, and that was the start of something even better than all the speed in the world.
“Deal,” Barry said, chuckling. “But you’re driving next time.”
Wally rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed on his face. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that.”
And in that moment, Barry allowed himself to believe it. To believe that he could fix things, piece by piece. One step at a time.
---
Barry and Joe – Father and Son
The West home was quiet now, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator or the low murmur of voices from the other room. Barry found himself sitting on the porch, his hands clasped tightly together, eyes gazing at nothing in particular. The weight of the past few weeks still hung heavily on his shoulders. The team, the memories, the sudden shift in the world—all of it was a lot to process.
But there was something he hadn’t done yet. Something he wasn’t sure how to face.
Joe.
It wasn’t that he was scared of Joe—he just didn’t know how to explain the gaping hole that had opened between them when the world forgot him. When Joe had lost him.
Barry hadn’t been able to be there for Joe the way a son should. And now… now, it felt like things were shattered in ways they couldn’t even begin to repair.
Joe stepped outside, his boots echoing lightly against the wooden porch. He wasn’t in a hurry, taking his time as he leaned against the railing, a sigh escaping his lips. Barry didn’t look up, but he knew Joe was there, waiting.
Finally, Barry spoke, his voice low. “Joe… we need to talk.”
Joe was quiet for a moment before nodding. He didn’t speak right away. His presence was heavy, a calm that contrasted with the storm swirling inside Barry.
“I never wanted you to feel like you lost me,” Barry said, his words shaky, like they might break the moment he finished saying them.
Joe remained silent, though Barry could see the way his fingers gripped the railing, his knuckles white. It was as if he was holding on to something just as tightly as Barry was.
“I didn’t forget you,” Joe finally said, his voice rough, like it had been waiting to be released. “I never wanted to forget you, Barry. But when you disappeared… When you were erased… It felt like I lost a son. And there was nothing I could do to bring you back. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know who to be.”
Barry’s heart sank. It hit him like a punch to the chest. He had never considered how Joe must’ve felt in the time he was gone—how it must’ve felt to lose the son he loved and then, on top of that, be told that everything he remembered had been a lie.
“I thought I was going crazy,” Joe continued, looking down at the ground. “I remember all of it, you know? I remember you. I remember the kid I raised, the boy I taught, the man you became… and then one day, poof. You were gone. And nothing made sense. The memories? They didn’t even feel real anymore. I kept seeing you in everything, Barry. Every damn day, your face haunted me. But then I couldn’t even remember you. Like you’d never existed.”
Barry swallowed, fighting back the lump in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything that could fix it, but the words wouldn’t come. He had taken so much from Joe. So much time, so many memories.
Joe’s gaze softened, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than Barry had ever heard it. “I hated it. I hated not remembering you. Not being able to have you here with me. It felt like I’d lost a son that I could never get back. And it tore me apart every damn day.”
Barry’s chest tightened. He reached out, his hand finding Joe’s, gripping it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the weight of the apology heavier than he had ever felt before. “I didn’t want that for you. I never wanted you to feel like that. I never wanted to leave you in the dark.”
Joe’s grip tightened in return. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was like the words they hadn’t said had finally found a place to rest.
“You don’t have to apologize, Barry,” Joe said finally, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You didn’t have control over what happened. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean it didn’t break me.”
Barry nodded slowly. “I know. I’m just… I’m so sorry for everything.”
Joe’s gaze softened, his hand reaching up to place a gentle pat on Barry’s shoulder. “You’re here now,” Joe said simply, his tone warm. “And that’s what matters. You’re not gone anymore. We’ll figure it out, Barry. Together.”
Barry’s heart swelled, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a little. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to heal the rift, to fix the cracks that had formed, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was on the right path.
“I’m not going anywhere, Joe,” Barry said firmly, his voice steady now. “I’m going to make this right.”
Joe smiled, the warmth in his eyes returning. “I know you will, kid.”
And in that moment, Barry knew that he had the strength to keep going—not just for himself, but for the people who loved him. Joe, Iris, Wally, all of them. They weren’t going to let him fade again.
They were in this together, for better or worse.
---
Barry, Iris, and Eddie – Treading Through the Past
The West home felt like a strange limbo. It was warm, comforting, and familiar, yet Barry couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed—especially when it came to Iris.
He hadn’t had a proper conversation with her since the whole… everything had happened. Sure, they had exchanged pleasantries, brief moments of connection here and there, but they hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room. They hadn’t talked about what they had been through, and what it meant now that Barry was back.
Today, though, there was no avoiding it.
Barry sat on the couch, his posture stiff, his hands clenched in his lap. Iris was seated beside Eddie, her fingers entwined with his. The three of them were silent, the air heavy with the weight of years that had passed by, as well as the truth that had been hidden in plain sight.
“Barry,” Iris started, her voice gentle but firm, “there’s so much we need to talk about.”
Barry exhaled sharply, the words on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came out. He didn’t even know where to begin. How do you apologize for a decade of lost memories? How do you face someone who had once been your everything, and then not be what they thought you were?
“You don’t have to say anything, Barry,” Eddie interjected, his tone surprisingly calm. His arm around Iris tightened slightly, as if to emphasize his position. “I’m not going to pretend that everything’s just fine. Because it’s not. But I understand. I understand what happened. I don’t think any of us were really prepared for what was going on, for how it all unfolded.”
Barry swallowed hard. Eddie. He remembered Eddie. He remembered the man who had stepped in as the protective husband, the one who had taken care of Iris when Barry couldn’t, when Barry had been taken from their lives.
But the truth still stung.
“I know,” Barry finally whispered. “I know what I lost. What we all lost. But I don’t even know how to explain this… how to explain everything that’s happened.”
Iris sighed deeply. “It’s not that easy, Barry. You can’t just come back and think everything will be the way it was. You know that.”
Eddie’s gaze softened, and he gave Iris’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Iris, we’re not blaming Barry for any of this. He didn’t ask for it. None of us did.”
Iris’s face remained conflicted, torn between the love she had for Barry and the reality of everything that had changed. Barry had been engaged to her, and now, somehow, she was married to Eddie. It felt like a twisted version of their old life, as if the universe had decided to rewrite their entire story without their consent.
Barry was the man she had dreamed of marrying. He was her heart, her past, and in many ways, he would always be her first love. But now, Eddie was standing in that place, holding her hand, sharing a life with her. They had built something together in Barry’s absence—a life that Barry could never return to, at least not in the way he had once hoped.
“I remember us, Iris,” Barry said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. “I remember when it was just the two of us. When we were supposed to get married, when we were going to build a future together.”
Iris nodded, her eyes softening. “I remember that too, Barry. I never stopped loving you. Not even when I couldn’t remember you.”
Eddie’s face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that spoke of deep understanding. He knew. He knew what had happened, and somehow, he had come to terms with it.
“But then, you came back,” Iris continued, looking straight at Barry now. “And everything was so different. We were different.”
Barry lowered his gaze, feeling the weight of those words more than he cared to admit. “I know. I know it’s not the same. But I still care about you, Iris. And Eddie…” He paused, his throat tightening. “You’ve been here. You’ve been there for her when I couldn’t. And I’ll never forget that.”
Eddie looked at him, the silent understanding passing between them. “You don’t have to apologize, Barry. Like I said, this wasn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t just lose you, Iris. I lost everything,” Barry said, his voice breaking slightly. “You, me, the life we were supposed to have… the future we dreamed of. And I don’t know how to get it back.”
Iris sat back, her face tense, as she grappled with her emotions. “It’s not just about the past, Barry. We’ve all changed. I’ve changed.”
Barry nodded. “I know that too. I’m not asking for things to go back to the way they were. I don’t want to replace Eddie. I just want to make things right between us. I just want to be part of your life again.”
Iris’s gaze softened, but there was still that flicker of uncertainty. “We can try,” she said quietly. “But we can’t undo the past. And I can’t pretend like everything is the way it was before.”
Barry bit his lip, holding back the words that threatened to spill out. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if anything he could say would fix this. But he did know that he was willing to try—willing to try for Iris, for Eddie, for them.
For the first time since his return, Barry felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. The world might have forgotten him, but the people who mattered were still here. They still had room for him, even if it meant forging new paths and redefining old relationships.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a whisper. “For being here. For letting me try.”
Iris nodded slowly, her face unreadable. “We’ll see what happens, Barry. But one thing I know for sure... you’re not alone. You never were.”
---
Chapter 28: “Something Like Lightning"
Chapter Text
May 5, 2017
---
The sun blazed down on the cracked lot outside S.T.A.R. Labs—the one Cisco lovingly called "The Danger Parking Zone." It was dusty, slightly uneven, and completely perfect for what Wally had declared was the First Official Speedster Showdown™.
Barry stood at the sidelines, arms crossed, trying his best to look like a responsible mentor and not someone who was emotionally melting inside watching these two zipping around like chaotic comets. Jesse and Wally were stretching—like they needed to stretch—and flinging playful insults at each other.
“Oh, come on, Jesse,” Wally smirked. “You sure you wanna embarrass yourself in front of your dad?”
Jesse scoffed. “Please, you’ve been tripping over your own lightning trails all week. Try not to faceplant.”
Barry chuckled softly as he turned to see Leonard and Julian standing behind him, arms also crossed, doing their best impressions of disapproving school principals.
“So,” Leonard said, eyeing Barry sideways, “you’re just back for five minutes and already doing the mentor thing again?”
“Technically,” Julian added with an arch of his brow, “he was always a mentor. Memory-wiped or not, that impulse to overachieve never left.”
Barry didn’t even deny it. He just smiled faintly. “They deserve someone who gets it. Who’s been there. And besides…” He watched as Jesse bounced in place like she had a thunderstorm trapped inside her shoes. “They’re already faster than I was at their age.”
“Ugh, we get it, you’re humble now,” Leonard muttered.
Cisco stood near a modified stopwatch that looked like it had been soldered together during a sugar high. “Alright! Welcome to the Big Flashy Fast Face-Off!” he yelled, holding his arm up dramatically. “Wally West, aka ‘Kid Still Fast But No Longer a Kid,’ versus Jesse Quick, aka ‘She Can and Will Run Over Your Ego.’”
Dante Ramon, standing a few feet back, had his drone hovering in the air with cinematic angles that would make ESPN weep. Harry Wells stood with a fond smirk, arms folded, watching Jesse with that rare softness that only surfaced around his daughter.
“You ready?” Barry asked, stepping forward between the two speedsters.
“Ready,” Jesse said, winking at Wally.
“Born ready,” Wally replied, grinning.
“Okay,” Barry said. “This isn’t just a race. This is about feeling the world again. Feeling how time bends and stretches and breathes when you run. Don’t just go fast. Go smart.”
Len leaned in to Julian. “You hear that? He’s a poetic motivational speaker now. We should charge him per metaphor.”
Julian deadpanned, “I’m still stuck on him calling time ‘breathable.’”
Barry ignored them with the practiced grace of a man who had lived with Cisco’s commentary for years.
“On your mark… get set… GO!”
Lightning exploded. Literally. The entire air shimmered as Wally and Jesse took off, twin streaks of red and gold tearing through the lot. The dust danced in their wake as they circled the course Barry and Cisco had mapped out—high-speed turns, obstacle dodging, and even a few physics-defying verticals.
The team watched with open awe. Cisco cheered. Harry beamed. Dante muttered something about getting this drone a Netflix deal.
Barry stood still… but his eyes glowed faintly with emotion.
Because they were beautiful.
Because they were free.
And because the future was right here, vibrating through the feet of two kids who had been given the gift of speed… and knew exactly what to do with it.
As the two neared the final stretch, neck and neck, Jesse suddenly leaned into her lightning just that much more—faster than air, sharper than sound. She crossed the finish line a blink before Wally.
She skidded to a halt, heart racing, chest heaving—and Wally wasn’t even mad.
He just laughed, breathless, and flopped beside her in the grass.
“Okay,” he said, voice light and proud, “you won this round.”
“You’ll get me next time,” Jesse grinned, her hair tangled with wind and sparks.
They lay there a moment longer, silence settling over them.
Then Jesse said softly, “It still doesn’t feel real. That he’s back.”
Wally nodded, looking at the clouds. “Yeah. But you know what? It finally feels like we’re whole again.”
She turned her head toward him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Wally smiled. “Like lightning finding its ground.”
She reached out and gently took his hand, fingers lacing.
The silence that followed didn’t need filling.
---
“Return to the Chaos Cortex”
Subtitle: “Mick, That’s Not Russian, That’s Just Yelling Loudly with an Accent”
---
Barry, still smiling from the heart-melting Jesse-Wally moment, stepped through the sliding doors of the Cortex with Julian and Leonard in tow. The minute the doors whooshed open, they were hit with the unmistakable energy of “productive chaos” and also—
“YA GAVARILA TEBE, TY ODRANNOE DREVO S OVOSHCAMI!” Lisa shouted in furious, full-volume Russian, brandishing a clipboard like a dagger.
“I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING, WOMAN!” Mick roared, ducking behind a chair he was attempting to turn into a barricade. “AND THIS ISN’T RUSSIA, THIS IS A SCIENCE BASE!”
“That’s not how geography works!” Caitlin called from her station without looking up, rapidly typing and clearly regretting all her life choices that led to this exact moment.
Leonard took one step in and sighed, dragging a hand down his face like this entire experience was aging him by the minute. “God save me from my family,” he muttered.
“You’re the one who brought ‘em,” Julian whispered with a smirk.
“I was emotionally compromised.”
H.R., perched on the edge of a desk with a sparkling soda and his custom-designed camera rig (decorated in glitter tape and labeled “Cortex Chronicles”), leaned over to Cisco and whispered, “Okay, so in this episode, the theme is ‘Cold Family Meltdown: The Lisa Awakens.’”
Cisco, fixing his breach-calibrator, nodded like this was all perfectly normal. “Just wait until she starts throwing glitter bombs. It’s her final form.”
Barry blinked at the entire scene.
Jesse was standing near Dante, who had his drone back up and running. They both looked entirely unbothered, as if “Lisa vs. The World: Slavic Edition” was just another Wednesday. Caitlin was triple-tasking. Baby Rowan, in Ronnie’s arms, was absolutely delighted—clapping and giggling every time Lisa shrieked something new in Russian.
“She’s mad because Mick rewired her blaster to double as a space heater,” Caitlin explained briefly as Barry walked past. “And by ‘rewired,’ I mean ‘threw it at a wall and yelled until it turned on.’”
Leonard winced. “Mick!”
“What?! It still heats things!”
“NOT IN A WAY THAT SHOULD BE LEGALLY ALLOWED!”
Lisa stomped toward Mick again.
Barry leaned to Julian. “Should we stop them?”
Julian deadpanned, “I’m English. This is technically out of my jurisdiction.”
“Oh my God,” Barry mumbled, sitting down beside Cisco. “I thought coming back would be... quieter.”
Cisco handed him a cup of coffee. “We don’t do quiet anymore.”
And as Lisa launched into another Russian tirade, Mick retaliated by picking up a donut and brandishing it like it was a grenade, and baby Rowan squealed in absolute joy—
Barry smiled.
He was home.
---
“The Mary Allen Chronicles”
Subtitle: “Speed Dad Supreme: Now with Bonus Baby Handling Skills”
---
It was late afternoon by the time things settled into what the team generously called "a lull."
Barry walked the Cortex with baby Rowan carefully cradled in his arms, the child blinking up at him with wide, startlingly intelligent blue eyes, a tuft of snowy white hair curling against Barry’s suit sleeve. The baby didn’t cry—didn’t fuss—just stared like he was memorizing the molecular structure of Barry’s soul for science. Or judgment. Possibly both.
"Hey, kiddo," Barry whispered, adjusting his hold with an ease that made even Caitlin do a double take from her desk.
Rowan responded by patting Barry’s chest and giving him a tiny, approving smile that said yes, carry on, you may exist.
Ronnie stood nearby with Caitlin, whispering, “I mean… should we be concerned he likes Barry that much?”
Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t like anyone that much. Except maybe Cisco. And the ceiling fan.”
Ronnie blinked. “Dude out-ranked the fan?”
Caitlin nodded gravely.
Meanwhile, Cisco, H.R., Jesse, and Harry had gathered behind a console, watching Barry cradle Rowan and gently hum the Star Wars theme like it was a lullaby.
H.R. whispered like he’d discovered a wild cryptid, “Okay, are we all seeing this?”
“I’ve seen many timelines,” Cisco muttered, “but this? This is Mother Barry Allen. This is ‘Barry Poppins.’”
“I’m uncomfortable,” Harry said bluntly. “And I say that as someone whose daughter can bend gravity with her mood swings.”
Jesse added, “Why does he look like he knows the parenting manual by heart?”
“He wrote it,” Cisco replied with deep conviction.
Barry, oblivious to the chaos of commentary, walked past them with Rowan in his arms, still humming and cooing. The baby giggled and tapped Barry’s nose once—clearly enchanted.
Across the room, Leonard and Julian watched it unfold with identical expressions of confusion, amusement, and vaguely worried fondness.
“Are we… dating a mom?” Leonard asked finally.
Julian blinked. “I mean, if I had a nickel for every time Barry Allen shocked me... I’d have three nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it happened three times.”
Barry returned to them with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, why do I feel like I’m being observed like a museum piece?”
Cisco, H.R., Jesse, and Harry all looked away in unison.
“You’re holding the baby like a seasoned nanny on a PBS special, mate,” Julian said, smirking.
Leonard nodded. “You’re dangerously close to joining a very elite league of parental superheroes. Like, Supernanny Justice League level.”
Barry looked down at Rowan.
The baby patted his cheek and softly babbled, “Bah-bah.”
And honestly?
That might’ve been his first word.
Julian clapped a hand over his mouth.
Caitlin whirled around. “Did he just—?”
Ronnie’s jaw dropped.
Lisa gasped somewhere from the hallway.
And Cisco?
He stood, pointed, and shouted, “I knew it! Barry Allen, you are officially Speed Dad! Someone give this man a mug!”
Barry, mid-blush and mild panic, muttered, “I’m going to lie down forever now.”
---
“Baby Drama & Domestic Disasters”
Subtitle: “WHO’S THE DAD?!”
---
Barry was still holding baby Rowan like he’d been born for this.
The little snow-haired munchkin was curled against his chest, cooing and patting his collar with all the gravitas of a tiny emperor inspecting his favorite knight.
Cisco had not stopped filming. H.R. had fetched popcorn. Lisa had pulled out a camera too, but only to document Leonard’s reaction to everything, because apparently his face was a full-blown novella now.
Julian had not blinked in ten minutes.
That’s when baby Rowan, in the quiet lull of the Cortex, looked up at Barry—eyes big, full of wisdom no four-month-old had any business holding—and babbled again:
“Bah-bah!”
Everyone froze.
Cisco dropped his phone.
“AGAIN! HE SAID IT AGAIN!”
Caitlin’s soul left her body. Ronnie nearly dislocated a shoulder turning around.
And Barry?
“Did—did he just call me dad?” he squeaked.
Ronnie, to his credit, looked like someone had hit him with a soft pillow and a baseball bat at the same time. “Okay. Wait. Waitwaitwait. If Barry’s the dad… what the hell am I?”
“The godfather,” Lisa offered sweetly. “You get to wear suits and scowl dramatically.”
Ronnie blinked. “But I made him?”
“And Barry’s raising him,” Cisco said. “We’re in a CW family drama now, accept it.”
Just then, the Cortex doors slid open with their signature hiss.
In walked Iris, Joe, and Eddie—fresh from jobs, folders in hand, looking like normal adults with actual responsibilities.
They stopped.
They stared.
Barry Allen was holding a baby like a Disney princess. Baby Rowan was touching his face like he was the chosen one. Julian and Leonard were sitting nearby like divorced parents at a daycare talent show. Cisco and H.R. were in full-blown live stream mode, and Harry Wells looked like he needed a nap and therapy.
Iris blinked. “...Did we miss something?”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “Why is Barry holding the baby like that?”
Eddie added, “...And why did the baby just call him dad?”
Barry, eyes wide, voice very high-pitched: “IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.”
Baby Rowan: “Bah-bah!”
Ronnie: “I don’t understand my role anymore!”
Caitlin, off-screen, somewhere between a nervous breakdown and a giggle fit: “We’re in hell. A very soft, cuddly hell.”
Cisco turned to the trio. “Welcome back. You left for six hours and came back to this. Barry Allen is now baby-certified. Also, possibly a father.”
Iris blinked at Barry, then at the baby. Then at Barry again. Then at Julian and Len, who both looked vaguely smug.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s enough weird for today. I’m making tea.”
Joe sighed and dropped his folder on a table. “Call me when someone figures out the custody agreement.”
Eddie walked off mumbling, “...why is this always our life?”
Baby Rowan clapped. “Bah-bah!”
Barry: “He’s not even my—actually, y’know what? I give up.”
---
---
The rain wasn’t heavy. Just enough to gloss the pavement, turn the city lights to watercolors, and make the concrete steam slightly beneath the spring chill. STAR Labs had gone quiet for the night—its heartbeat powered down to a low hum, security lights casting soft glows on polished floors and half-sipped coffees.
Harrison Wells—the original—had locked the final lab door with a fond look back, a father bidding goodnight to a brilliant but overly dramatic teenager. Everyone had gone.
Well… almost everyone.
Barry stood just outside the doors, coat wrapped tight around him, the kind of melancholy that didn’t ache but settled deep in the bones. His hair was slightly damp from the drizzle, his sneakers barely scuffed against the wet ground. The city moved in the distance. Tonight, he was going to Metropolis. Tonight, he was seeing Nora and Henry Allen—his real parents. Alive in this version of reality.
He should’ve been running to them.
Instead, he stood there, breathing like each inhale was a question.
“You look like you’re about to dissolve into a tragic poem,” Julian’s voice cut through the dark, soft but teasing. He stepped beside him, hands in pockets, damp curls glinting under the streetlight.
“Do not encourage his brooding,” came Leonard’s voice from the other side, equally casual, equally drenched in meaning. He lit a cigarette, though he didn’t smoke it—just held it for the warmth. “He’s already got the cheekbones for existential collapse.”
Barry snorted. “Wow. Love the support.”
Julian tilted his head. “We’re not here for support. We’re here for hauntingly tender, unresolved tension.”
“That, and to walk you to your emotional dinner,” Leonard added. “Can’t have the human embodiment of lightning getting hit by a bus.”
Barry smiled faintly but didn’t respond right away.
It was Julian who noticed it—how his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. How his jaw was clenched in the way people do when they're scared of being happy. Like if they move wrong, it’ll all get snatched away again.
“You alright, mate?” Julian asked softly.
Barry looked at them. Really looked. Julian, precise and steady like a scalpel. Leonard, sharp and devastating like a blade honed from hellfire.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be anymore,” Barry whispered, eyes flicking between them. “Flash, son, friend, some kind of daycare-certified pseudo-dad… It’s like I exist everywhere but nowhere. And this timeline—this life—it isn’t even real. I’m not even supposed to be remembered.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that feels like a shared heartbeat.
Then Leonard stepped closer, flicked the unlit cigarette into a puddle.
“You’re remembered now,” he said. “By us. And that’s real enough for me.”
Julian reached out and gently tapped Barry’s shoulder. “You’re here. That’s what matters. We’ll figure the rest out.”
Barry swallowed thickly.
“Rain’s picking up,” Len muttered, stepping closer. “You gonna run to Metropolis or need one of us to portal you there like a lost cat?”
Barry chuckled. “I’ll run.”
“Of course you will.” Julian smiled, subtle and sincere. “But maybe, next time, stay a little longer before you do.”
And just like that, Barry took a step back, gave them both a nod—and then, in a blur of gold and light, he was gone.
Rain hit the spot he’d just stood in.
Leonard looked at Julian.
Julian looked at Leonard.
“…He’s ours now, isn’t he?” Julian murmured.
“Absolutely,” Leonard replied, smug as hell. “Dibs on traumatized lightning boy.”
Julian rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile. “Shared custody. I’m not losing him to a thief with a leather jacket.”
They stood there, two kings in the rain, watching the gold in the distance fade into the night.
---
Chapter 29: “Dinner With the Dead (And a Concept of Time Itself)”
Chapter Text
---
Barry Allen didn’t expect to show up at a penthouse.
Actually, he expected a nice, normal brownstone. A front porch with a windchime. Maybe a garden where Nora planted herbs and Henry grilled burgers on weekends. You know—midwest parental dreams.
But no. He stopped on the rooftop balcony of a penthouse overlooking all of Metropolis, blinking rain out of his lashes, holding a bottle of Lucifer Morningstar-approved whiskey, and trying not to have a breakdown over the luxury glass elevator.
He checked the address.
It was right.
“…My parents are rich rich,” Barry muttered, absolutely horrified.
The door opened.
“Finally,” came a voice like a British cigarette and judgment. “Took you long enough. What were you doing, monologuing in the clouds?”
Barry stepped inside and squinted.
“Constantine.”
“Present and tired,” John said, wearing a velvet robe and holding a half-empty wine glass. “Dinner’s on the table. The Speed Force picked the music. You’ll love it—it’s all dramatic violins and existential grief.”
Barry looked past him and blinked.
Sitting at the dining table… was Nora Allen. Her hair perfectly styled, face warm and familiar. And Henry was next to her, wearing a Metropolis Knights sweatshirt like he wasn’t a medically trained ghost from a different timeline.
And standing beside them?
The Speed Force.
In Nora’s form.
But this Nora wore flowing white, her eyes glowing faintly, and she gave Barry the unsettling feeling that time itself had brought a casserole.
“Hi, honey,” Nora Allen said.
“Hey, son,” Henry added, standing up.
The Speed Force tilted its head and said nothing.
Barry was frozen.
So he did what any emotionally overwhelmed speedster does.
He lifted the whiskey bottle.
“I brought… trauma juice?” he offered.
“Good lad!” John clapped him on the back, nearly knocking the bottle out of his hand. “Pour me two fingers, and don’t be stingy.”
Barry blinked again. “Why are you here?”
“Oh,” said John with a smirk. “I’m the emotional support warlock. Plus, if the Speed Force decides to go full metaphysical wrath, someone has to banish it using an unholy toaster and a demon coupon.”
The Speed Force raised one ethereal eyebrow.
“I heard that,” it said.
Henry turned toward it. “Honey, let the boy sit down before you scare him into another timeline.”
“Too late,” Barry whispered, finally walking inside.
The air smelled like garlic and maybe… emotional healing?
He didn’t know what this dinner would bring.
But for once, he felt it.
Like maybe this time, things weren’t just broken.
They were mending.
---
---
The table was too quiet for a family dinner.
Barry sat between John Constantine and the Speed Force Nora, the glass of whiskey that John had insisted he pour now sitting untouched in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a family meal—hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a meal with his parents. Not like this.
Nora Allen—his Nora—gave him a small smile, the corners of her lips trembling like she wasn’t sure how to feel, either. There were a lot of things unsaid hanging between them, like the unanswered question of why they were here, why they were back, and why Barry couldn’t remember them until now.
“Barry,” she said, her voice a soft warmth that still felt unfamiliar. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.” She paused, her voice trembling. “But we never thought it would feel… like this.”
Barry swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to Henry, who was watching him with those fatherly eyes he hadn’t seen in years. Henry, who had been lost to him for far too long. And yet here he was, sitting across the table, alive and real, like he was never gone.
And Barry?
He was shattered.
“I’m sorry,” Barry whispered, voice breaking before he could stop it. “I never wanted this. I never wanted you to lose me… I never wanted to forget you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, fighting the sudden tide of emotion rising in his chest.
Sorry doesn’t fix this. Nothing fixes this.
Nora’s hand reached out gently across the table, fingers brushing against his. Her touch was warm—too warm, like sunlight. “Barry, sweetie…” She paused, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s not your fault.”
He couldn’t look at her. Not like this.
“I should have done something,” Barry muttered. “I should’ve found a way to stop this… To stop the timeline from breaking. To stop the Speed Force from erasing me. I don’t deserve this… to be back, to be here, when so much time was lost.”
He slammed his fist down on the table, making the silverware rattle, startling everyone.
“I failed. I failed you.” His voice cracked at the last word, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. He could never show this weakness. Not now. Not after everything he’d been through.
The Speed Force, sitting across from him like an ethereal figure, spoke up. It wasn’t the usual childlike, detached tone it always had. This time, it almost sounded... maternal.
“You were never erased, Barry. You were just… forgotten by those who weren’t meant to remember.”
“But that doesn’t make it any easier,” Barry said bitterly. “Not for me, not for you.”
“Barry,” Henry said softly, reaching across the table, his hand firm on Barry’s shoulder. “We never stopped loving you. Even when we couldn’t remember you, we felt your presence in our hearts. You were always here, even if the world didn’t know your name.”
The weight of his father’s words pressed down on Barry’s chest like a leaden weight. He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t some grand reunion he had imagined—he wasn’t running into their arms after years apart, telling them he was home and everything was fine.
No, this was real. This was raw. This was the kind of grief only those who had lost someone—and gotten them back—could understand.
“I couldn’t protect them, either,” Barry muttered under his breath. He wasn’t even sure if they could hear him.
“Who?” John asked, his voice still dripping with that mix of sarcasm and concern. “Who couldn’t you protect?”
“My team,” Barry whispered. “I couldn’t save them from forgetting me. I couldn’t protect Wally, or Cisco, or Iris… All of them just… vanished from my life, and I couldn't even be there to fix it."
There was a pause.
Then, Nora leaned in closer, her voice thick with understanding. “Barry, you didn’t fail them. You never did. They know you. They always will. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
John gave Barry a knowing look, his fingers running absentmindedly over the edge of his wine glass. He wasn’t usually one for emotional speeches. But tonight? He felt like the world had cracked open in a way that even he couldn’t keep up with.
“Kid,” John muttered, his voice unusually soft for once. “You did what you had to do. And if you think any of us would blame you for saving the damn world…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to the Speed Force. “Hell, even I think you’ve earned a break.”
Barry finally let out a breath, but it wasn’t enough to release the tension knotting in his chest. He wanted to believe them. He wanted to feel like everything was okay again. But every fiber of his being told him it wasn’t that simple.
And for the first time in a long time, Barry felt the weight of everything that had happened to him. Everything he had lost. And everything he had to rebuild.
“I don’t deserve this,” Barry said hoarsely, the words coming out like a confession. “I don’t deserve to have you both back. I don’t deserve to see them again. I don’t deserve anything.”
“Barry, you are enough,” Nora said, her voice barely a whisper. “You’ve always been enough.”
But Barry didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.
Because he knew better.
Sometimes, being enough wasn’t enough to undo the damage you caused. And sometimes, there were things that even the speed force couldn’t fix.
But he didn’t know how to tell them that.
And for the first time ever
Barry was truly happy
His team
His family and even the speed force
Yes this includes John and lucifer (who knows why?)
He had them back and he was happy
---
Yeah ... until a certain someone dropped by
---
The atmosphere in the penthouse was thick with unspoken words, but it wasn’t long before the door opened, and in walked the Lucifer Morningstar—looking like a man who had just stepped out of a high-end tailor’s shop. His presence was, as always, unnerving and magnetic, but tonight? Tonight, it had an added layer of mischief.
“Hello, dear Barry,” Lucifer greeted, his voice smooth as silk, a smirk playing on his lips. "I do hope I’m not interrupting anything... too sentimental."
Barry, who had been lost in thought, looked up from his glass of whiskey, startled by the intrusion. He should’ve expected it—Lucifer had a tendency to pop in at the worst possible moments, usually with a dramatic flair.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Barry asked, a bit of his old irritation returning.
Lucifer shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat at the table like he belonged. He gave Nora and Henry a polite nod, as if they were old friends. “Well, Earth 666 is booooring right now. And quite frankly, I’ve been feeling rather perky these days. Figured I’d stop by and see what all this fuss about ‘family reunions’ is about.”
John Constantine didn’t even flinch at the sight of Lucifer. In fact, he actually smirked. “Did Hell run out of souls to torment, or are you just here to stir the pot for your own amusement?”
“Both, actually,” Lucifer replied, his smile stretching wider. “Though, I do find it mildly entertaining that Barry’s feeling all... sentimental. Not his usual style, I must say.”
Barry sighed and rubbed his forehead. Of course Lucifer would show up at a time like this. What was it with the guy and perfect timing?
“I didn’t invite you here, Lucifer,” Barry said, still struggling to come to terms with his own emotions.
“Oh, you didn’t have to.” Lucifer leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up, as if he were settling in for a cozy evening. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Barry Allen. The Speed Force, time manipulation, your little dilemma with erasure... it’s all so charming. It’s been rather dull on my end—at least with you around, there’s never a shortage of drama.”
Barry frowned. “Not the time, Lucifer.”
“Oh, but it’s exactly the time, darling,” Lucifer said, snapping his fingers. “Tell me—how’s it feel to realize you can’t fix everything? That you’ve been given a second chance, but with a price tag you can’t quite pay?”
The words hit like a punch, and Barry felt the weight of them settle in his chest. His eyes darted to his parents, to John, to the Speed Force. They were all watching him with a level of understanding that only made the situation worse.
“I don’t want your pity, Lucifer,” Barry muttered, trying to hide the hurt behind his words. “I’m just... trying to make things right.”
Lucifer tilted his head, studying Barry for a moment. His expression shifted, and for the first time, he looked somewhat... serious.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Trying to make things right by bending time and reality... that’s not the solution. You want to make things right? Own what happened. Accept it. And then... move forward.”
Barry met Lucifer’s eyes, feeling an unfamiliar vulnerability at the core of his being.
"I’m trying, alright?" Barry's voice was hoarse. "I’m trying to figure out how to fix everything. But it’s not that simple."
Lucifer’s eyes twinkled with a knowing, cryptic gleam. "Of course, it isn’t. But life, time, reality—they don’t play by your rules, Barry. And that’s what makes it interesting."
Before Barry could respond, Lucifer stood up, adjusting his coat like he was about to leave.
“Well, my job here is done,” Lucifer said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve caused just the right amount of chaos and emotional turmoil. Now I’ll leave you all to your... family matters.”
John rolled his eyes as Lucifer walked towards the door. “You’re always a fun time, mate.”
Lucifer paused and turned back with a mock-bow. “I do try.”
As the door closed behind him, the weight in the room didn’t lighten. Barry couldn’t help but feel the echo of Lucifer’s words hanging in the air.
John leaned back in his chair, a half-grin on his face. "That was fun."
Barry chuckled despite himself, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, fun.”
“Can we all just agree on one thing, though?” John continued. “Lucifer does have a way of showing up when we’re most miserable, doesn’t he?”
Barry smirked a little, grateful for John’s attempt at levity, but his heart still felt heavy. Was he doing enough to fix what had been broken?
---
Chapter 30: "New Beginnings, Same Old Barry"
Chapter Text
The Allen family was living the high life now, and it wasn’t just a little bit luxurious—it was Central City rich. Henry Allen had decided that he was going to buy the nicest place in the city—close enough to Star Labs but far enough to not be part of the chaos. Their new home, a penthouse overlooking the city skyline, screamed “money” in every way possible, but in the most subtle, understated fashion, of course. Henry wasn’t about that ostentatious life. Still, the marble countertops and vintage art pieces made it clear they weren’t scraping by anymore.
Henry had also snagged a gig as a trauma surgeon at the city's largest hospital, something that came with a hefty paycheck—and probably a few grey hairs. His world hadn’t slowed down. The new job, the new house, and the familiar face of Barry Allen still living under his roof felt like a strange whirlwind of second chances.
Barry, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to just coast into the new reality. With the Allen name restored, he found himself standing in front of his closet, staring at an outfit he wasn’t quite sure would fit the new version of himself. Somehow, everything felt wrong in the most delicious way.
The vampire red blouse? Absolutely ridiculous, Barry thought, but it looked fire. He pulled it on, the deep V-neck giving him that bold energy. The blouse clung to his chest just right. And then there were the jeans—Blue Bittersweet Glamorous Lace-up Detail Side Lace Trim Flare Silhouette Jeans by REDDACHAIC. Long name, wild fit, but damn if they didn’t make him feel some type of way. Flared, detailed, and now, definitely confusing everyone.
Barry had his doubts, but as he surveyed the fit in the mirror—blouse tucked in, jacket thrown casually over his shoulder—he felt... seen. He almost smiled at the reflection but stopped himself. It was far too diva for him. Still, there was no denying it, Barry Allen had somehow gone full fashion icon in one snap decision.
Meanwhile, outside of the penthouse, Henry and Nora were carrying boxes in from the car, settling into their new lives in Central City. Life was oddly peaceful... for now.
Back at Star Labs, the team was just... adjusting. They’d just gotten used to the new dynamics—well, not everyone was used to Barry yet. They were still processing that he wasn’t gone and that things were starting to shift, again.
Cisco, casually lounging by the Cortex’s coffee machine, took one look at Barry as he stepped through the door in his new look and immediately choked on his drink.
“Barry, what... what the hell are you wearing?!” Cisco sputtered.
“Don’t look at me,” Barry shot back, “You have no room to talk with those Hawaiian shirts and weird-ass sneakers.”
Leonard Snart, who was always stylish in his own right, raised a brow. “What... is that?” He gestured to the blouse, clearly not impressed.
Barry smirked and turned, striking a pose. “It’s called a vibe, Len. You should try it sometime.”
And then Julian, of course, just shook his head, half amused and half bemused. “It’s fine, Barry. We’re used to your decisions by now.”
But despite the teasing, despite the confusion, there was something about Barry in this new fashion statement that made it clear—he was stepping into himself, finding a space for the man he was becoming, even if that meant stunning everyone into confusion.
“Okay, okay,” Caitlin said, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m just gonna say it—Barry looks like he’s trying to pull off a rockstar vibe, but the vibe is a little... strange.”
“And yet, I’m here for it,” Jesse added, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “He’s... got it, I guess.”
“Oh, he knows it,” Wally said, grinning, “I mean, look at him, guys. He’s basically walking chaos.”
“I know, right?” Cisco added, leaning in to get a better look. “Like, I’ve never seen Barry so extra.”
“Is this the new Barry Allen?” Julian muttered to himself. "Do I need to step up my own fashion game now?"
At that moment, Barry, still with the unimpressed looks from his friends, cleared his throat dramatically.
“Well, while you all try to figure out how to catch up with my godly sense of style, I’m headed to Metropolis.”
“Uh-huh?” Iris entered the room, raising an eyebrow. She looked from Barry to the team, clearly amused. "I thought you were going with your parents tonight?"
“Yeah, I am,” Barry said, adjusting his jacket. “But you know, after saving the world, it’s nice to dress up and just... chill.”
“You’re not fooling anyone,” Iris teased, smiling softly. “But good luck. I’m sure Henry will be so thrilled with whatever this is.”
“Thanks, Iris. You’re a real gem,” Barry shot back, heading out.
Iris shook her head, still chuckling. “One day, that kid is gonna settle down with a fashion sense that isn’t sponsored by chaos.”
Barry had barely left when Wally laughed. “You know, I can’t even be mad at him. I mean, I kinda wanna try those jeans on for myself now.”
“Yeah,” Cisco said, glancing over at Wally. “But let’s be honest—we’d look better in them.”
“Well, I’d wear them with some style,” Jesse said, grinning.
Everyone laughed, but deep down, the teasing, the easy jokes—they felt like home. Barry wasn’t just back, he was here in the new world, with a new edge, and all of them—this team, this family—couldn’t help but embrace it.
---
There was something oddly poetic about Barry Allen walking through the glass doors of CCPD like he owned the place—even though technically, he was reapplying for a job.
But this wasn’t just any job—Captain Singh had begrudgingly agreed to bring Barry back on as a consultant, specifically for meta-human cases. Which, in CCPD terms, meant “Please help us when things go kaboom.”
Singh looked up from his desk as Barry stepped in, crisp folders in hand, still rocking the vampire-red blouse and lace-trimmed jeans like it was runway day.
The captain blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Allen.”
“Captain.” Barry grinned.
“You do realize... you look like a vampire pop star who moonlights as a fashion blogger.”
“I prefer ‘hero with style,’” Barry quipped. “But thank you.”
Singh sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember everything that happened while I was mind-controlled, or dimension-hijacked, or whatever that was—but I do know you’re the Flash, and apparently, also a walking fashion statement now.”
Barry gave a half-bow. “It’s the flare jeans. They give me speed.”
Singh deadpanned. “Welcome home, Allen. Try not to explode the city this time.”
“Can’t promise anything.”
---
After officially becoming Central City’s most stylish meta-consultant, Barry zipped back to Star Labs, holding a file folder in one hand and a smug grin on his face. His blouse was slightly unbuttoned now—enough to cause a mild crisis for several onlookers.
Inside the Cortex, things were the usual brand of chaos.
Cisco and H.R. were having what appeared to be an intense fashion intervention... with themselves.
“I keep forgetting it’s actually good,” Cisco muttered as he watched Barry strut in.
“Same,” H.R. whispered, peeking over his mug. “That blouse? A war crime. And yet…”
“And YET,” Cisco echoed, shaking his head. “We are not okay.”
Lisa, meanwhile, leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching her brother with a smirk. “You’re totally staring.”
“I am not,” Leonard said, eyes definitely following Barry as he walked across the Cortex with those glitter-laced steps.
“You simp in silence,” Lisa teased. “Respectable. Classic cold boy behavior.”
Leonard looked away. “Lisa.”
“Oh, he looked away, it's confirmed,” she whispered to herself with evil glee.
Across the lab, baby Rowan was in Ronnie’s arms, quiet and content... until Barry walked by.
And Rowan, in a sudden burst of energy, reached out his tiny hands and squealed:
“Dada!!”
The entire Cortex went silent.
Ronnie’s heart cracked, softly. “I—I mean, technically I am your father—"
But Rowan just pointed right at Barry again.
“DADA!”
Barry froze mid-step, blinking like a deer in disco lights. “...What?”
Cisco slowly leaned sideways and fell out of his chair.
H.R. had already hit record on his tablet. “He picked his other dad! This is cinema!!”
Caitlin gently took Rowan from Ronnie, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay, babe. He’s just bonding with... Speedy Mary Poppins.”
Ronnie muttered something about unfair competition and tragic betrayal, but he was still smiling.
Meanwhile, Julian had been lurking at the monitor desk, pretending to be reviewing a power surge. His hand paused over the mouse, knuckles whitening slightly as he stole a quick glance at Barry.
He wasn’t just “fond” of Barry. He wasn’t even just into Barry. No, Julian was in the midst of a full-on Shakespearean emotional collapse behind his cool professor exterior.
Because Barry, with his windblown curls, loud clothes, soft voice when he held babies, and that damn half-smile—was ruining him.
Julian didn’t even realize he was staring until Harry-1 walked past and mumbled, “Down bad, mate.”
Julian blinked. “Pardon?”
Harry kept walking. “Fix your face. It’s obvious.”
Julian cleared his throat. “I am a professional. This is... professional monitoring.”
Barry turned slightly toward him, his shirt shifting to show even more of his collarbone and—
Julian quietly died.
---
Back in the Cortex, the vibe had somehow gone from “science crime lab” to “meta-powered soap opera daycare,” and everyone was starting to feel it.
Caitlin was still trying to explain gently to Rowan that Ronnie was, in fact, his actual biological dad. Rowan, in response, simply cuddled deeper into Barry’s neck and muttered a happy little “Bah-bah,” which now everyone knew was code for “This is mine now.”
Ronnie gave an exhausted sigh, but also offered Barry a juice box like a peace offering. “He likes you. That’s... that’s fine. You want to split custody?”
Barry blinked. “Wait, are we co-parenting now?”
“Too late,” Cisco called from across the room. “The baby has chosen. This is the plot now.”
Lisa, still smirking, elbowed Len. “Your man’s a natural.”
Leonard did not dignify that with an answer, but his soul had short-circuited. Again.
Julian sipped his tea aggressively in the corner, watching Barry cradle a baby like a soft-lit commercial and whisper, “Of course you’re the cutest thing ever, you’re wearing footie pajamas with lightning bolts.” The man had no defense against that. None.
Then, as if the scene needed more unhinging—Wally West zoomed in at full speed, skidding to a stop and proudly holding up not one, but two jackets.
Specifically, the jacket.
Black patent faux leather. Red faux fur. Short cut. Statement vibes so bold even the Speed Force had to squint.
“I FOUND IT!” Wally declared triumphantly. “I found out these are statement pieces, so I bought one for me and another for Jess—”
He tossed one to Jesse, who caught it mid-air and immediately threw it on over her already glowing speedster suit.
“—So we can all match.” Wally’s grin could power the grid.
Cisco audibly screamed into a pillow.
H.R. fainted into a beanbag with his camera still rolling.
Harry-2 just stared and muttered, “I came here to teach my daughter science. I am surrounded by rhinestones and chaos babies.”
Jesse, now fully draped in fire and drama, walked toward Barry, Rowan, and Wally. “So this is the look now? Faux fur and speed?”
Barry, still bouncing Rowan in his arms, struck a slow twirl. “Apparently, it’s a movement.”
“Oh god,” Julian muttered. “It’s spreading.”
Wally threw an arm around Barry’s shoulders. “Listen, we’re a unit now. Coordinated. Lethal. Fluffy.”
Rowan cooed in agreement. “Dah!”
And somewhere, somehow, the Speed Force probably wept sparkly tears of pride.
---
Barry had a funny feeling when he walked into the penthouse. It wasn’t just the lavish décor or the gold-plated everything, though it definitely felt like the moment he walked in, he was expected to be holding a glass of expensive wine and casually throwing out one-liners about being a "connoisseur of fine dining."
No, it was the fact that the Speed Force—now looking eerily like his mom—was hovering nearby, making the entire space feel both homely and like he was being tested.
“Ready for this?” Barry muttered to himself.
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Constantine said, casually flipping a knife around like it was a toothpick. “What’s the worst that can happen, eh?”
Barry looked over at John. “You’re here?”
“I never leave a man behind,” John said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Besides, you didn’t think I’d let you meet your parents without me around to judge them properly, did you?”
Barry resisted the urge to facepalm. But yeah, John Constantine was his ride-or-die now. He could never escape.
The Allen family dinner wasn’t just family. Henry and Nora had invited everyone. This wasn’t a quiet get-together—it was a circus.
From the moment Barry stepped in, Cisco and H.R. had already claimed the couch like it was a new-found throne, and they were still arguing over which was better—this dinner or the one time they got free burritos from a villain as for Dante he was recording with his nano drone well it wasn't exactly nano but for a drone it was nano enough it was barely the size of his hand
“Okay, but the tacos were really good,” Cisco said, with his arms crossed over his chest as Dante passed the side eye .
“They’re not tacos, Cisco. They were emotional burritos. Big difference,” H.R. shot back.
“Is this what it’s like every night?” Barry muttered under his breath, standing at the door.
Ronnie and Caitlin, meanwhile, were trying to keep baby Rowan occupied, but the kid had apparently already stolen a fork and was now batting it around like a cat.
“Does he—does he do this all the time?” Barry asked, as he watched Rowan knock over a vase.
“He’s smart,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes. “Too smart for his own good.”
“Must run in the family,” Ronnie added with a glance at Barry, who just shrugged.
Leonard and Lisa were next to the dining table, looking like they’d just come from a mob boss dinner. Leonard was glaring at the Speed Force, while Lisa was pretending not to enjoy it but definitely was.
Mick was simply happy because he was present in this dinner
“Oh, this is fun,” Lisa said, elbowing Leonard. “Do you think Barry even knows how to not be a walking disaster?”
Len only sighed, but if you looked closely, you could see the little soft spot he had for Barry.
Barry gave him a wry smile. “You look thrilled to be here.”
“You know I hate family events,” Leonard muttered.
Julian, standing with arms crossed and watching Barry, had his usual stoic demeanor, but something about the situation had him slightly off. He had made sure that Barry got a moment with his parents earlier, but now? Now he was observing.
“I still think this is too much,” Julian said, his voice quietly critical.
“It’s a family dinner, Julian. Not a hostage situation,” Barry teased, but Julian’s frown only deepened.
Eddie, Joe, and Iris were all mingling and getting comfortable in their own way, but Barry could feel the weight of the moment
“Ready to sit with the folks, kid?” Joe clapped him on the shoulder, and Barry nodded. The fact that his real parents were here, in this space with him, was a lot to process. But there was comfort in the awkwardness. Maybe it was because he had earned it after everything.
Harrison earth 1 of course the original looked at Barry and offered a clearly grateful smile ..alongside Harrison was his wife tess Morgan Wells
“Yeah, just... don’t let me screw this up,” Barry mumbled.
“Please,” Iris shot him a warm smile. “You’ve literally saved the world like, what—four times? You’ve got this.”
There was an odd but comforting silence as everyone gathered around the table. Even though everything felt like an epic-sized mess, it was still family. It was still home.
The Speed Force, of course, had already decided to sit next to Barry.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Henry Allen said, raising his glass.
“Hell yeah,” John said from across the table, not even bothering to be respectful of the sentiment. “To new beginnings, a whole lot of weird, and surviving this dinner without blowing up the planet.”
“John,” the Speed Force said, deadpan.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, raising his glass, too. “Here’s to family—however the hell you define it.”
Everyone raised their glasses, and Barry felt a flicker of contentment. Maybe life wasn’t perfect, but for once? For once, he had everyone in one place. Even if it did take a cosmic force and a magical misfit to make it happen.
"To family," Barry said quietly, meeting everyone’s eyes. "In all its crazy, chaotic glory."
And, just like that, everything clicked into place...
The laughter downstairs faded as Barry, Leonard, and Julian made their way upstairs, the noise of the Allen family dinner echoing in the distance. The air felt a little cooler up here, quieter. But it wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet. No, this was the kind of quiet that felt like everything in the universe was holding its breath, waiting for something to shift.
The three of them stood in a small, cozy lounge space—an area designed for private chats, away from the chaos below. Barry leaned against the wall, eyes flicking between Julian and Leonard as they continued to banter.
"So, what's next?" Julian asked, his voice light, but there was something there. Something unsaid, like he was trying to read Barry's mind.
"Don't start with me, Julian," Barry warned, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm just trying to figure out how to keep my life from spiraling any more than it already has."
Leonard raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he looked at Barry. "You mean after you disappeared for, what—four years? You left us with this mess." His tone was teasing, but there was a hidden hurt underneath, a vulnerability that he only allowed Barry to see in moments like this.
Barry sighed, feeling the weight of it. "I know. I messed up. But I’m here now."
"You’re here now?" Julian scoffed. "You think that fixes everything? You think we’re all just gonna act like you didn’t vanish off the face of the Earth for years?"
Barry rubbed his temples, the pressure building. "I get it, okay? I left. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to be forgotten."
Leonard stepped closer, the crackling tension in the air palpable now. His voice softened, but the edge was still there. “You gonna make us wait another four years, Barry, or are you gonna do something stupid?”
Barry’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if it was the tension or the unspoken words hanging in the air, but something shifted.
His eyes flickered between the two of them. He wasn’t sure if it was instinct, or if he just couldn’t stand the silence any longer. But before he could think it through, he took a step forward, closing the distance between him and Julian.
He kissed him—slow at first, hesitant, like a breath caught in time. Julian’s hands found Barry’s shoulders, the warmth of his touch grounding him in that moment.
The kiss was intense, raw, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. Not with Leonard standing there, not with everything still unresolved.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting together, Barry could feel Julian’s breath, shallow but steady.
“Still mad?” Barry whispered, his voice barely audible.
Leonard, leaning against the doorframe with an almost amused expression, smirked. “Only if you don’t kiss me too.”
The words lingered in the air, hanging like an open invitation. Barry’s heart raced, his mind screaming at him to slow down, to think—but instead, he did the only thing that felt right in that moment.
He kissed Leonard.
This time it was messier, quicker, a little more desperate. A little too fast, but also perfect in a way Barry couldn’t quite explain. The emotions that had been building for so long, the tension, the regrets, the longing—it all came crashing in that one kiss.
When they broke apart, breathless, Barry’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving. Leonard’s lips curled into that signature smirk.
“Well,” Leonard said, his voice low, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Barry blinked, trying to catch his breath, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t some neatly packaged moment, some perfect romance story. But it was real.
“Yeah,” he finally managed, his voice shaky. “It was… perfect.”
Julian, still standing beside them, looked at Barry with a mix of disbelief and something else—something soft. He didn’t say anything, though. His silence was enough.
And for the first time in a long time, Barry felt like he had a place in this chaotic world—between two people who had, in their own way, always been there for him.
It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t clean. But it was his. It was them.
The world could wait.
Downstairs, the air was thick with laughter, chatter, and the soft clink of glasses. The table was a little chaotic, a bit too loud at times, but that was the beauty of it. This was family, after all—however messy, imperfect, and loud.
But upstairs? The scene was far more subdued. The sound of Barry’s breathless laughter still lingered in the air after his kiss with both Julian and Leonard. The tension had broken, but it hadn’t fully settled yet. Not even the Speed Force, who had been observing this entire fiasco with its eerie, distant gaze, could deny the unmistakable vibe that had suddenly permeated the room.
John Constantine, ever the observer of human—and sometimes inhuman—nature, stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall. His eyes flickered between Barry, Julian, and Leonard, as if sensing something that most others couldn’t quite grasp. With a smirk tugging at his lips, he leaned closer to the Speed Force, whispering just loud enough for it to hear.
"You know," he began, "I’ve got a superb sense of gay vibes, and those three? Definitely yours. All of them."
The Speed Force’s form flickered momentarily, resembling Nora, but with a hint of something mischievous in its energy. It didn’t answer, but John could sense the shift in its presence—like it knew what he was getting at.
Wally, standing in the corner with his hands buried in his pockets, couldn’t help but facepalm. "I knew it," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with both exasperation and amusement. "Leave it to Barry to turn everything into that."
H.R., ever the optimist, leaned over to Wally, clapping him on the back with a grin that could’ve lit up a room. "Hey, look at it this way, kid. They finally got along! About time, right?"
Wally shot him a look, but it was more fond than anything. "Yeah, sure, but this is gonna be a long ride home, huh?"
Meanwhile, Harrison Wells—original Earth-1 Harry, not to be confused with the other variations—sat quietly at the table with his wife, Tess Morgan Wells. He sighed, shaking his head as he watched the scene unfold with a mix of fondness and resignation.
“This,” he muttered, “this is family.” He wasn’t talking just about the blood ties—he was talking about everyone in the room. The people who had been through hell together, the ones who would stand by each other, no matter the chaos or the choices.
Tess squeezed his hand gently, a soft smile crossing her face. "They're a mess. But they're your mess."
A chuckle bubbled up from Harry’s chest, but before he could respond, Jesse handed him a crisp $50 bill with a knowing smile. "You owe me, old man," she teased, her voice full of playful challenge.
Harry raised an eyebrow, but pulled out another bill and handed it over without hesitation. "Fine, fine. You win. But I did warn you. Betting on these idiots? I thought I’d have better odds on a wild goose chase."
Jesse just shrugged, smug. "I mean, it’s a family tradition, right?"
Just as the bet was settled, Lucifer—who had been lounging at the far end of the room with his usual devil-may-care attitude—flicked his fingers in the air. A smirk played on his lips as he let out a dramatic sigh. "I’m thrilled to see you all coming together for this... delightful circus."
"I knew you were betting too," Harry said dryly, making sure to hand over his own share.
Lucifer looked delighted as he collected the pile of money, chuckling under his breath. "A great investment, I must say. Not the worst I’ve ever had."
"Okay," Wally broke in, still nursing his facepalm, "but how is it that everyone in this room had a bet going? I’m not even sure what the rules were anymore."
Cisco, ever the enthusiastic participant, chimed in from the kitchen, a tray of drinks in his hands. "What? I didn’t put anything on it! No need. I knew where this was headed. I’m more of a follower than a gambler, y’know? But honestly? I should’ve seen this coming. You’ve all seen the tension, right?"
"I mean," H.R. added, "I was just betting on which one of them was gonna throw the first punch."
"No punches here," Barry said, his voice cutting through the banter as he returned to the room, still with a slightly bewildered but contented look on his face.
But as he settled into the conversation, something more tender and true lingered in the air. No more awkwardness, no more unresolved energy—just family. That was the real prize, wasn’t it?
As everyone laughed, sipped their drinks, and passed around money, the weight of everything that had happened, all the pain, the chaos, the healing—it all started to feel like it belonged here. Like it was meant to be. Even in this mess of mismatched personalities and timelines, they had each other.
Wally grinned, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "Yeah," he muttered, almost to himself. "This is family."
And for the first time in a long time, Barry couldn’t help but agree.
Chapter 31: "Stormfronts and Mindgames"
Chapter Text
The day began like all others in Central City—just a little too quiet. A silence with teeth. STAR Labs hummed with usual noise: beeps, scanners, baby laughter, and someone yelling “Why is the toaster downloading updates again?!”
Barry stood in front of the cortex monitors, backlit by the faint early morning sun. His silhouette was practically a magazine spread. Black gothic flare jeans with sharp bow details hugged his legs like a glam vampire from the 2000s. The Alexander McQueen biker jacket, all textured leather and fury drama, clung to him like it knew he was that bitch. And those cat-eye glasses? Cherry on top. The outer edges swept up like he was about to lecture on quantum fashion or hex a runway.
Wally zipped in wearing his own biker jacket with a dramatic swirl. “Mine has blue fur!” he declared proudly. Jesse followed, matching in red.
“Are we officially the Speed Force Fashion House?” Cisco asked, sipping from a mug that read World’s Tiredest Genius.
“You're just mad you can't pull off flare jeans,” Barry teased, brushing one cat-eye frame into place.
Julian had walked in halfway through that sentence and almost dropped his clipboard. Len? He blinked once, muttered something about cardiac arrests, and left the room.
“Did he just short-circuit?” H.R. whispered, filming the moment like it was a wildlife documentary.
But Barry wasn’t laughing. Not inside.
Something tugged at him.
The world slowed, blurred at the edges, as it sometimes did when that part of him stirred. The quiet-blue fog coiled around his mind like breath on a mirror. Barry's eyes clouded faintly, his pupils dilating.
He saw it again.
The same image from his visions.
A jagged dagger. A hooded man.
Blue lightning trying to pierce the fog—and failing.
His heart skipped a beat.
He whispered, “Cicada…”
Jesse, still glowing from compliments, blinked. “What?”
Barry shook his head. “Nothing. I... I think I need to run some scans.”
But the cold didn’t come from outside. It came from the future.
And it was shaped like death.
---
The Cortex buzzed with low conversation and the occasional sarcastic quip—Cisco and Dante were arguing about drone flight paths, Caitlin was swaying baby Rowan gently in her arms, and Ronnie, half-dozing on a rolling chair, muttered something about coffee being the one true god. Lisa was painting her nails like it was a combat sport, and H.R. was trying to film her without losing a finger.
Then it hit.
Barry froze mid-sentence, eyes wide as if someone had ripped the universe open in front of him. The blue fog returned, hard. No warning. No slow blur. Just a scream of static behind his eyes.
Everyone noticed.
“Barry?” Wally stepped forward and Jesse turned her head.
He didn’t respond. His fingers twitched—then gripped the nearest desk as if anchoring himself to the now.
His nose started to bleed. Fast. Ugly. Red dripping onto the polished floor like a countdown.
Julian reached him first, yelling, “Something’s wrong—someone get gauze! Len, help me—”
But Barry wasn’t here.
Not completely.
Inside his head:
A voice. Too smooth. Too cold. Too calm.
“The Enlightenment is coming.”
A man in a chair, tethered to wires.
Cicada’s blade flashing behind him.
Pain. Pain. Pain. So much pain.
But he saw it.
A tiny flicker. A margin. A window that would open just long enough.
Barry held on. Focused. Controlled it. He could shape it.
I’m stronger than this.
With a violent gasp, he jolted back to reality like he’d been underwater for too long. He slumped against Len—who caught him, gently, despite the sheer panic behind his eyes—and Julian was already wiping the blood off his lip.
Everyone had frozen.
“You okay?” Len asked softly, just for him.
Barry nodded, breathless. “I… saw him. Both of them. Cicada and someone else. The Thinker. He tried to get into my head—but he couldn’t.”
“Damn straight,” Cisco muttered. “Nobody messes with our team’s walking lightning bolt.”
Julian examined him carefully. “That wasn’t a vision. That was an attack. A psychic one.”
Barry finally straightened up, glassy-eyed but firm. “He couldn’t reach me. But I saw him. The Thinker. We have time—but barely.”
Lisa, still holding her polish, frowned. “And who the hell is Cicada?”
Barry licked his cracked lips. “A killer. One who targets metas. He’s coming. And if we’re not ready…”
He didn’t finish.
Because some storms don’t start with thunder.
They start with silence.
---
Some people go on quiet walks to clear their heads.
Barry Allen accidentally dips one foot into the astral realm and gives his entire team a heart attack.
---
In London, John Constantine was minding his own morally ambiguous business—dealing with a particularly nasty soul contract involving a demonic busker and three cursed harmonicas—when he froze. His cigarette twitched. He narrowed his eyes.
“Oh bloody—no. No, no, no.”
He groaned and yanked on his coat, storming toward his portal mirror. “Speed Force, love—we have a dumbass alert. Your kid’s trying to moonwalk into the Spirit Plane without a damn lifeline.”
---
Meanwhile, at STAR Labs: Chaos. Classic.
Barry sat curled on one of the Cortex sofas, a soaked cloth held to his nose by a stern Harrison Wells (the original™). His breathing was shallow, his pulse jumpy, and if you asked Cisco, he looked like he had just tried to punch through the timeline barehanded.
Again.
“Head down, Allen,” Harrison instructed, tightening the cloth. “You're not immortal. Don’t tilt it back unless you want blood in your lungs.”
Julian stood beside him, knuckles white. “You’re going to explain, after this,” he muttered. “Every last detail.”
Len, leaning nearby with arms crossed, looked like he was doing complicated emotional algebra in his head. The kind that involved Barry, danger, and a deep desire to commit murder and cuddle simultaneously.
The elevator dinged.
Joe, Eddie, and Iris walked in.
They stopped mid-step.
Joe’s hands immediately went to his hips. “What did he do this time?”
Iris’s face paled. “Barry?”
Eddie blinked. “Is that blood on the floor or... ketchup?”
“I wish it were ketchup,” Cisco muttered from his console. “Our boy tried astral projection without training wheels.”
John Constantine poofed into existence next to Nora—the Speed Force herself—who simply looked on with faint exasperation and deep love. Dressed like a celestial goddess with a mom bun.
“Well,” Nora sighed, sipping her cosmic tea, “aren’t we lucky?”
John pointed at her. “You said you were gonna ease him in.”
“He’s my son,” Nora replied with a smile. “He’s dramatic. It’s genetic.”
“Mate’s gonna pull his soul out of socket one of these days,” John grumbled. “He needs a grip—figuratively and literally.”
Nora nodded. “Time for lessons, then. Spiritual anchoring. Corporeal grip. The works.”
Back in the physical world, Barry groaned, finally lifting his head. His voice was raspy, but cheeky.
“Did I… do something stupid again?”
Everyone stared at him.
Cisco: “Nooooooo. You just psychically faceplanted into the spiritual abyss without backup. Totally normal.”
Barry gave a weak grin. “Well, at least I looked good doing it?”
Wally zipped into the room with a bottle of water and a burrito. “Don’t try dying, man. We just started matching jackets.”
---
The elevator dinged again.
This time it was Harry (Earth-2) , and Mick, looking exhausted from a long day of... whatever metaphysical chaos those four usually attract like lint. Harry was mid-sentence about dark matter frequency disruptors when he stepped into the Cortex, looked down, and froze.
“...Why is the floor red?” Harry said flatly.
Mick blinked. “Did someone finally explode?”
It looked like a battlefield. Harrison Wells the Original™ was kneeling beside Barry, who was now crumpled near the main workstation, face pale, breath uneven, and blood soaking several towels. His cat-eye glasses had fallen off, his usually snatched outfit (gothic-glam jeans and that insanely stylish McQueen jacket) looked rumpled. His eyes kept flickering—as if reality wasn’t fully syncing for him anymore.
“He’s having another one,” Caitlin said as she rushed back in with a med kit. “That’s the fourth vision in under ten minutes.”
“He’s glitching,” Cisco whispered.
Across the room, Len was pacing, muttering low, panicked Russian curses under his breath. Julian was kneeling nearby, calmly checking Barry’s pulse.
“Try to keep him grounded,” Julian said, not even sparing Len a glance. “If his mind slips too far while his body’s still hemorrhaging, we’re going to have a very expensive exorcism on our hands.”
“Not helping!” Cisco snapped, voice high.
“Not panicking,” Julian replied coldly. “Someone has to do that job.”
Dante had just walked in and visibly paled. He leaned on a desk. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“You can’t,” Caitlin barked. “There’s already enough blood in this room.”
“Great,” Mick said, cracking his knuckles. “I brought a flamethrower. I feel underprepared.”
John Constantine appeared out of literal smoke, trench coat and all. “Why does this kid bleed like a possessed Victorian poet every time he time-travels in his sleep?!”
“You’re the magical babysitter,” Len growled. “Fix it!”
“I’m trying!” John snapped back. “He’s spiraling through the spirit realm like a drunken pigeon on a wind tunnel!”
Rowan, the baby genius of emotional vibes, was curled in Ronnie’s arms, face all crumpled like he was seconds from crying. He kept murmuring “Dada... Dada...” and pointing at Barry, voice full of concern.
Nora—Speed Force herself—was glowing softly, looking more and more like a worried mother every second. She crouched near Barry, brushing his curls back with supernatural tenderness.
“Barry,” she whispered. “Baby, I need you to come back to the surface. You’re not ready to handle all the echoes of time yet. Not alone.”
Barry’s mouth twitched. Another vision hit—hard. He arched slightly, eyes rolling back briefly, then gasped like he’d just come up from drowning.
Everyone froze.
Len dropped beside him immediately. “Breathe, Baran.”
Julian pressed another compress to Barry’s nose. “His system’s overloaded. He’s feeling time.”
“I told him this jacket was too powerful,” Cisco muttered, half-panicked. “It gave him psychic enhancement energy.”
“It’s not the jacket, Cisco,” Caitlin snapped. “It’s the Speed Force in him resonating with the temporal shifts.”
Harrison Original, voice steady, ordered, “We need to get his mind anchored. John, Nora—you two need to pull him out. Before the next vision takes him somewhere he can’t return from.”
Everyone—Team Flash 2.0, the Legends Lite, the Worry Squad Supreme—was there. And despite all the chaos, a strange unity blanketed them.
Because no matter what universe, what timeline, what version of the future was trying to speak through blood and fire...
Barry Allen was their heart.
And they weren’t about to let it stop beating.
---
The entire Cortex felt like it was holding its breath.
Barry’s body was trembling, limp but refusing to let go, like even unconsciousness was too far for him to fall. His vitals were garbage—as HR put it, in absolute “dog water”—and the monitors were a cacophony of warnings.
“I don’t even know what that means!” Cisco cried, adjusting three holograms at once. “That’s not even a real medical term, H.R.!”
H.R. was flipping through a medical textbook upside-down. “But it feels correct!”
“He’s slipping again,” Caitlin said grimly, grabbing the cold serum she just finalized. It shimmered faintly, violet-blue. “We’ve got one shot.”
She handed it to Len without hesitation.
Len raised a brow. “You’re trusting me to inject him?”
“You named it.”
“Fair.”
He slid the needle in with a thief’s precision. Caitlin muttered its name, “стопор мысли” — Thought-Stopper. God knew Barry needed that. His brain was doing backflips across time.
At the edge of the room, Harrison Original’s hands were red—but he didn’t care. Not even a little. They were steady. Controlled. His sleeves were rolled up like he was back in the thick of Tess’s worst days. He muttered directions as he held Barry’s head, carefully tilting it, checking his pupils.
“He’ll be fine,” he whispered more to himself than anyone. “He has to be.”
Thrum.
Another wave of energy hit. The lights flickered.
Then, with a sudden crackle, a portal of nothing but blue fog and howling noise opened.
“OH, NO YOU DON’T—” came a yell.
John Constantine literally punched his way into the spirit dimension, cigarette still in his mouth.
He stepped out of the haze dragging Barry's soul—yes, his actual soul—by the wrist, like a dad catching his kid sneaking off to hell’s equivalent of Coachella.
“I leave for TWO bloody seconds and you think astral projecting across timelines is a healthy coping skill?!” he bellowed.
Barry blinked weakly in John's arms. “I saw... I saw Cicada. And something worse. He’s coming. The Thinker is coming.”
Everyone froze.
Nora—the Speed Force—materialized beside John with glowing hands. “I’ve got him. Just give me a moment.”
The fog sealed. The air shifted. Barry’s body stilled.
The bleeding stopped.
And finally... finally... he opened his eyes.
“Hi,” he rasped, “why does everyone look like they lost a cage match with a blender?”
Everyone started talking at once.
Ronnie was still calming Rowan. Caitlin was taking vitals. Cisco was crying. H.R. accidentally knocked over a lamp. Jesse was hugging Wally and shivering. Julian muttered something British and scathing about “idiot self-sacrificing clairvoyants,” while slipping a pulse monitor on Barry’s finger , as for Joe he was now beside Barry dad supreme style , iris was holding Eddie who had almost passed out.
And Len?
Len just leaned in close, forehead resting on Barry’s, and whispered, “You try to die again, I will freeze your kneecaps.”
Barry smiled weakly. “That sounds like love.”
John lit another cigarette and flopped down into a chair. “Can we agree I get to say ‘I told you so’ later?”
Nora smirked. “You did good, Johnny.”
“You’re goddamn right I did.”
And somewhere in the distant echoes of time, the names Cicada and DeVoe rang out like warning bells.
But for now, Team Flash held their miracle boy close.
Because they still had time to fight. And more importantly?
They had each other.
---
Chapter 32: “Crimson & Clairvoyance”
Chapter Text
May 11, 2017
It had been exactly twenty-four hours since Barry’s brain decided to throw a rave in his skull and bleed about it. He should’ve been resting. Sleeping. Wrapped in seventeen blankets while Len spoon-fed him soup and Julian threatened to sedate him with a smile.
Instead?
Barry Allen strutted into STAR Labs like Dracula went to fashion school and majored in "suck your soul but make it fashion."
A black cape, lined with blood red ruffles, billowed behind him.
A red blouse, so frilly it threatened structural collapse, peeked from beneath a sleek corset vest.
His pants? A rebellious blend of slashed layers and asymmetrical flair that had Cisco internally screaming in Y2K.
Black gloves, a cane (yes, he was using a cane), and a necklace that might be a ward against demons or a vintage choker from 1802.
His eyes shimmered behind dark eyeliner and perfectly matched gothic lolita confidence.
He looked like a vampire prince who just inherited three kingdoms and a coffee shop.
Jesse and Wally were nearby, looking like gothic twins from a cursed high school anime, matching Barry in blood tones and dramatic flounces.
Cisco dropped his tablet.
Lisa Snart clapped slowly. “Your wife came to serve today, huh?”
Len, silent, was biting his fist.
Julian? Julian blinked, tilted his head, and said in a tone that could be mistaken for a love confession:
“You absolute maniac. You’ve weaponized ruffles.”
Barry, with his best aristocratic accent: “Why yes, dear. I call this ‘Victorian Warlock’ and I expect tribute in compliments.”
“I'm in love with you,” Len blurted out.
“Get in line,” Julian muttered, absolutely not meaning it jokingly.
Meanwhile, everyone else?
Cisco turned to Caitlin and mearly added “Ten bucks says he wears a dress by next week.”
Caitlin sighed quietly before she spoke “He’s already halfway there."
Mick the man he is then looked toward Caitlin “...I think I saw a skirt in that outfit.”
Harry E2, deadpanned before he too added on a comment “I will match the bet. But only if he
wears heels.”
Dante sighed quietly or loudly before it struck him “We are so doomed.”
HR? HR was already sketching the entire outfit for his ‘Flashion’ line.
Even baby Rowan gave a loud gurgle of approval, flailing dramatically like he, too, wanted a cape.
Joe entered, paused, squinted at Barry’s ensemble, then sighed. “You know what? I don’t even have the emotional bandwidth.”
Barry twirled his cane and smiled. “I’m feeling better.”
“Define better,” Julian muttered, grabbing a scanner.
Len just looked like he was about to combust.
And no one noticed that, under the glam and jokes, Barry’s hand trembled—just slightly—on that cane.
The visions hadn’t stopped.
They were just waiting.
---
Barry was mid-swish—cape flaring like a drama demon with an eye for tailoring—when the door to STAR Labs slammed open, and in walked a trench coat with legs.
John Constantine.
Looking like he hadn't slept since the Beatles broke up, trench flapping, cigarette hanging, eyes bloodshot, and attitude dialed to “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What the bloody hell, kid?” John snapped, stomping in with all the dramatic fury of an angry warlock dad. “You out here rocking runway Dracula realness while your brain’s bleeding like an open tap and you’re skipping through the spirit realm like it’s Disneyland?”
Barry blinked. “...hi John.”
Then Nora, Speed Force Mom Mode™, materialized beside him in a soft shimmer of light and static. She looked between Barry, the mess of aesthetics, and John. “Is this what we’re doing now? Capes and near-death episodes? Honestly, I’m proud and furious.”
Barry, cane in hand: “In my defense, I look amazing.”
“Don’t test me,” she deadpanned.
Just then, Harrison Wells (Original Flavor) strolled in, fixing his cufflinks in his charcoal gray three-piece suit, prepared to file STAR Labs patent extensions and not find a vampire son.
He took one look at Barry, arched a brow, and went:
“Well. You look like Tess when she used to raid my closet and add three corsets to everything. I love it.”
Barry smiled rather sweetly and someone who's very proud “Thank you, I’m terrifyingly powerful right now.”
Harrison with simple and gentle eyes talked like he was with tess “Yes, dear, you are.”
---
Meanwhile…
Visions were still waiting. Prowling behind Barry’s retinas like a wolf pacing a glass cage.
John sighed and rolled up his sleeves. “Right. Enough flirting. We’re gonna dig into that beautifully dressed skull of yours and see what exactly is clawing at your third eye.”
Barry nodded. “We’re going into the spirit world.”
Cisco added with deadpan and honest to God the tired vibe of a man with too many kids “Of course you are.”
Wally (bless him) just added wally was beyond confused “Again??”
Jesse squinted her eyes before turning to wally and stating “This is normal now.”
Len and Julian? Already pacing behind Barry like overprotective husbands on caffeine. They were not happy about this plan but also deeply turned on by his fashion choices, so conflicted.
Julian was pissed and definitely overprotective “If he starts bleeding again, I will hex you myself, Constantine.”
Len muttered something in Russian. Possibly romantic. Possibly a threat.
John the sarcastic fueled man he is responded “Relax. I’ll keep his soul attached to his body, I swear on my second-worst hangover.”
Nora crossed her arms. “I’m coming too. He’s my boy.”
And with that, the room dimmed, the spiritual lights flared, and Barry’s cane hit the ground as he closed his eyes and let John guide him into the spectral realm—
Where the names “Cicada” and “DeVoe” waited, wrapped in shadow and knowledge, like knives in silk.
---
The room held its breath. Barry was still, his cane now laying next to him like a quiet spectator, while the space around him seemed to grow heavier.
John stood next to him, palms open, speaking in low murmurs. The air vibrated with the tension of forces unseen, and the faintest whisper of the Speed Force, Nora’s ever-watchful presence, hummed just at the edges of the room. The connection was undeniable. Barry's mind flickered between this world and the next, like trying to thread a needle in a thunderstorm.
---
Outside the Circle:
Harrison Wells watched the team closely, his eyes flicking from the monitors to Barry's still form, occasionally pausing on the steady beep of his vitals. His face was unreadable, hands tucked into his pockets like a man who'd seen too much and still couldn’t quite get used to this.
Julian stood beside him, arms folded, trying not to look too worried but failing miserably.
“His vitals are off, but not fatal,” Julian muttered. “His brain is basically playing hopscotch between worlds. Can he even handle this?”
Len, always a mix of worried and extra, shot a glare at the monitors before walking to the side. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t not pace.
“Makes me wanna just grab him and shake him awake,” he grumbled in Russian, before muttering something that sounded like a frustrated mix of admiration and fear.
Harrison glanced at him. “Let’s just keep our calm. For now.”
Meanwhile, Caitlin had her hands full with the medical kits, trying to keep everything in check while Ronnie, ever the practical one, was on standby for whatever came next. They weren’t sure what exactly would happen, but Barry wasn’t a regular patient. The Speed Force had always been unpredictable.
Baby Rowan, somehow aware of the high stakes, stared up with big, confused eyes, making small noises as if sensing the emotional gravity in the room. HR (bless his heart) was pacing behind Caitlin, talking to the air like it could soothe the situation, but the room was too thick with tension.
---
Back in the spiritual realm, things weren’t much better. Barry’s eyes were shut tight, veins in his temples visible with the strain, the faintest trace of blood dripping from his nose—not much, just enough to be a warning.
John didn’t need to speak for Barry to feel him. His presence was there, coiled with power and intention, a reminder that they were both linked to these forces. Barry’s pulse, steady yet thumping, told him his physical body was fighting the spiritual tug. He could feel the pull of time, shifting ever so slightly.
In the stillness, Barry began to see it. The fog cleared momentarily, revealing fragmented images—Cicada in the future, that ominous weapon humming with malicious power. A faint sound, like a clock ticking backwards, echoed in his mind.
John’s voice cut through, barely above a whisper. “Focus, kid. You gotta let go of the body. Just trust your mind to do the walking. The world around you… it’s fractal. The pieces, all of them, are scattered… Cicada… DeVoe…”
Barry's brow furrowed, and with it, the connection grew clearer.
But the bleeding, the vision, the strain—
His chest heaved, his breath uneven. The fog grew heavier, and suddenly, his vision turned black, swirling like a storm in the back of his head. Time twisted and broke like a mirror shattering.
---
Back to the Team:
The monitors beeped faster. Barry’s blood pressure was climbing. Nora’s figure shimmered, as though she was pulling at the very edges of reality to keep him grounded.
“Come on, Barry,” she whispered, though it wasn’t entirely clear if it was for his benefit or hers. "Don’t lose yourself."
The team could do nothing but watch, helplessly. Julian’s hand hovered over the emergency medical kit, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt the connection. Not yet.
---
In the spiritual world, Barry’s vision broke again. He gasped—pain shooting through his skull as the Thinker’s image started to solidify, only to fade as if it were made of smoke. Cicada’s mask gleamed, sharp and menacing.
Suddenly, everything clicked. A flash—a key moment in the timeline where Cicada had already started to manipulate time. Barry could feel it, the ripples of something wrong and broken.
His voice was hoarse, barely audible. “He’s going to kill all of us… if we don’t stop him…”
John’s hand steadied Barry’s shoulder. His words were gruff, but there was a tightness in his tone that wasn’t quite fear. More like... something far worse. “You don’t get to die, kid. Not yet.”
The connection between them snapped with a brutal force—Barry’s head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went black.
---
Outside the Realm:
Barry’s body went limp in the chair, blood still streaking down his face.
Len was at his side in an instant, checking his vitals like a hawk. “Is he okay? What happened?” he demanded.
Julian rushed to help, holding Barry’s hand and muttering comforting words in his ear, even though Barry couldn’t hear him.
Harrison Wells turned to John, a solemn look on his face. “Did we just lose him?”
John’s face was unreadable as he wiped sweat from his brow. “Not yet, but his body’s straining. We’re gonna need a lot more than just a charm or a prayer to pull him back next time.”
Nora looked at Barry with soft concern, but her eyes were sharp with fear.
Cicada was still out there, and now, they had a much clearer picture of what was to come.
___
---
The realm twisted like a silver tide caught in a thunderstorm. Barry's consciousness floated—barely—like a single flicker in a windstorm of time, memory, and pain. His form, ghostlike and trembling, hovered in the spiritual world... but something tugged.
It wasn't death.
It was her.
The Speed Force—as Nora, glowing golden and warm like a heartbeat you forgot you had—descended into the Sprite Realm, her presence slicing through the noise like a symphony cutting silence. Her heels didn’t even touch the ground as she appeared beside Barry’s soul-form, hands out, a look of exasperated motherly judgment and soft panic all in one.
“Oh, Barry Allen,” she sighed, crouching down beside him. “You idiot. You absolute, spark-wearing, danger-chasing cinnamon roll of a disaster.”
Barry blinked slowly, eyes fluttering in the endless dark. “Nora…?”
“You’re slipping,” she said gently, brushing back the hair falling into his spectral face. “And I told you not to come in here alone. Again.” Her tone tightened, like lightning wrapped in a hug.
He tried to sit up. “I wasn’t alone. John—”
“I know. And thank the weird little trench coat he wears. But you didn’t anchor yourself. You’re bleeding, your vitals are tanking, and—” she paused dramatically, lips thinning. “Your husbands are going to kill me if you die.”
---
Outside the realm…
Len and Julian were practically glued to Barry’s side.
Julian held Barry’s hand, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping it. He kept whispering calming words like “Come on, love” and “You’ve been through worse,” but there was a crack in his voice like his heart was splitting open with every beep of the monitor.
Len, pacing again—furious, terrified, Russian curses slipping out with increasing creativity—stopped and bent down, kissing Barry’s forehead before muttering, “You better come back. Or I’ll find a way to punch the damn afterlife.”
HR was watching the vitals like they were a suspense movie. “That number’s not supposed to be going down, right?”
Harrison glared at him. “No, HR. It means his heart rate is low. Low is bad.”
Mick looked up from his position near the door. “Then someone fix him. Now.”
---
Back in the Sprite Realm…
Nora stood up, pulling Barry to his feet like a mom yanking her toddler away from a hot stove.
“I’m going to help you now. You’re not ready to walk through this realm alone—not yet. If you're going to understand what DeVoe and Cicada are planning, you need to do it right.” She cupped his cheek with a glowing hand. “So I’m staying with you this time.”
Barry’s eyes filled with light as her energy entered him like a surge of memory and warmth. His back straightened. The strain in his spectral form eased. The fog around them began to part, revealing a corridor of visions—timelines, splits, futures that hadn’t happened yet, but could.
He could see Cicada’s dagger humming with dark power. The Thinker, DeVoe, assembling knowledge from every outcome. But now… Barry wasn’t afraid. Not entirely. Not with Nora by his side.
She gestured toward a glowing path ahead.
“Let’s finish this together, Barry.”
---
Outside…
Barry’s body exhaled sharply. The monitors steadied a little. His pulse normalized by a margin.
Julian let out a shaky breath. “He’s still with us.”
Len ran a hand through his hair. “What happened?”
John, standing nearby with a cigarette that wasn’t lit (only because Caitlin had threatened him), answered:
“She went in after him.”
“Who?”
“The Speed Force,” John said simply. “His mom. The glowy, terrifying one.”
Len leaned down, resting his forehead gently against Barry’s. “You better be getting something useful outta this, baby, or I’m putting you in a damn bubble wrap suit and chaining you to the bed.”
Julian didn’t even blink. “You say that like it’s a threat, not a Saturday night.”
---
In the realm…
Barry stepped forward beside Nora, visions spiraling around them like living ghosts. Cicada’s plan, the Thinker’s algorithm, the cracks in time—it was all coming into focus now.
He turned to her, eyes glowing faint gold. “We’re gonna stop them.”
Nora smirked. “I knew you were my favorite.”
And with that, they walked forward—into the fractured light of possibility.
---
Chapter 33: "It's a love letter and a toast threat"
Chapter Text
May 12, 2017 – A Beautiful Morning in Hell, Population: Barry’s Brain
---
Barry Allen, local speedster and international fashion menace, strolled into his parents’ kitchen like a Victorian aristocrat who just survived an exorcism.
And by strolled, we mean floated. Not literally. But spiritually? Absolutely.
He wore a black lace blouse with bell sleeves, red velvet shorts over patterned tights, platform boots with steel toes, and a mini crown tilted ever so slightly on his fried little head. He looked like he just walked out of a haunted French Vogue cover shoot. Nora Allen blinked slowly over her tea.
Henry said nothing. Just sipped his coffee like it was whiskey and contemplated the choices that led to this.
Barry sat at the table, poured himself cereal, missed the bowl completely, and just went, “Oops. Spatial awareness is…suggestive at best.”
Then, without warning:
“The Queen died.”
Nora gave a somewhat questioning looked before she turned to Barry “Which queen, dear?”
Barry just responded with “Yes.”
Henry turned to Nora who looked back at him “...Okay.”
Barry kept going.
“The Pope dies.”
“Trump wins. Twice. Don’t ask me how. The math is cursed.”
“Gulf of Mexico? Gone. Now it’s America’s inflatable kiddie pool. Legally.”
“We fight birds, like real war. Like squawk-squawk death squads.”
He took a bite of dry cereal with a straight face, pupils dilated like saucers. Nora slowly lowered her fork. “Sweetheart, are you… okay?”
Barry smiled. Too wide. “Define ‘okay.’ On a moral, legal, or cosmic level?”
Henry calmly pulled out his phone and texted:
> Len. Your husband is on full crackhead clairvoyant mode. Bring tranquilizer tea.
---
Meanwhile, at STAR Labs…
Len is in full panic mode. Julian is sipping coffee aggressively. Jesse and Wally are placing bets on whether Barry starts speaking Latin or turns into a Disney villain next.
Harrison Original is muttering, “I knew the Sprite Realm would overload his cortex. I told everyone. Did anyone listen? Noooo. Let him go swimming in ghost soup. What’s the worst that could happen? This. This is the worst.”
Even Caitlin’s like, “Okay but did anyone write down what he said? Because some of that might be a prophecy or just today's Twitter feed.”
---
Back at the kitchen, Barry suddenly freezes mid-bite.
Eyes still huge. Smile still cursed.
He whispers, “Oh no.”
Nora looked towards Henry then Barry “What now, darling?”
Barry:
“I just saw a vision of the Thinker’s plan…and also a dog wearing crocs and solving taxes with crayons. The timelines are… merging.”
And then?
He faceplants into the cereal.
---
Barry arrived at STAR Labs like an overcooked soufflé in platform boots—wobbly, dramatic, and absolutely giving fashion fever.
He pushed open the doors, his silhouette framed by tragic lighting and pure vibes. Cat-eye glasses perfectly perched on his fried little face, his eyes huge and distant like he just spoke to God and God answered in riddles.
And Barry? He had energy. The kind of energy where your brain has left the chat, but your heart is throwing a rave.
He stepped into the room, arms wide, and bellowed like a glam rock prophet
“GUYS—who wants to try a FLOURLESS CHOCOLATE CAKE?”
The room went still.
Mick whispered, “...what the hell does that mean?”
Cisco, cautiously: “Is that a metaphor? Are we the cake?”
HR gasped. “Wait, are you the cake?! Barry, blink twice if you’re the cake.”
Barry ignored all of them.
He dropped his bag, spun once, and declared, “I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH.”
His voice cracked. His pupils were still huge. He looked like he was about to burst into tears or confess to crimes in six different languages.
Julian nearly choked on his tea.
Len immediately stepped forward, hands hovering near Barry’s face like he was checking for fever via vibes.
“love? Darling? You okay? You’re getting that look again.”
Barry sniffled dramatically. “I just… I saw the future. It was awful. But you all? You’re perfect. You’re cake. My cake. No flour. Just vibes.”
Harry turned to Caitlin. “How much damage can a psychic overload actually do?”
Caitlin already had a syringe labeled ‘Anti-Possession But Also Maybe For Migraines’ ready.
Dante whispered, “Why do I feel like he’s about to float?”
Rowan, the baby, let out a single, judgmental squeak. Even he knew chaos was imminent.
---
Barry, still dressed like a haunted Gothic poet who just walked off a runway and into a lightning storm, casually whipped out a Samsung S25 Ultra.
Cisco blinked. “That’s… not out yet.”
Barry just grinned, eyes blown wide and chaotic, like the Speed Force possessed a Victorian ghost and shoved it into his frontal cortex.
He scrolled for a moment—then, like he was casually announcing brunch plans, dropped the following:
“The queen dies. All of them Charles takes the throne”
“Pope died. Long story.”
“America is bankrupt. Except Disneyland. That survived.”
“Lucifer Morningstar sues God. Wins.”
“I have two husbands and they’re gonna freak when they see this pic of me holding a plasma blade in 2029.”
He held the phone up. The team collectively gasped. Barry was wearing a space suit and his eyeliner was unreasonably sharp.
H.R. turned to Caitlin, whispering, “Do we… do we sedate him or start clapping?”
Len just stood there, heart full, trying not to melt into the floor.
Julian’s eye twitched. “That’s my jacket he’s wearing in that pic.”
Barry winked at him.
And Harrison Wells—original flavor—didn’t even blink. He simply adjusted his glasses, took a sip of his coffee, and almost lovingly muttered,
“He’s just like Tess. Except more eyeliner.”
Wally tried to snatch the phone and got zapped.
Jesse whispered, “He’s vibrating at sarcasm speed.”
Mick threw a gold coin into the betting jar. “Ten bucks he phases through a wall next.”
Meanwhile, baby Rowan, sitting safely in Ronnie’s arms, let out a distressed baby noise and stretched toward Barry. His tiny hand pointed dramatically like he wanted his emotionally-cooked uncle back on the ground.
Ronnie raised a brow. “Even the baby thinks this is a soap opera.”
Barry? He took a shaky breath and whispered to the baby
“Rowan, you gotta remind me to destroy the robot bees in 2024.”
Everyone paused.
Cisco whispered, “There are… robot bees?”
Barry, deadpan: “So many. And they unionize.”
---
Joe and Eddie had exactly one goal today: drop off a case file, get Julian’s forensics expertise, and maybe avoid any multiverse weirdness.
Instead, they walked into:
– Barry wearing his cat-eye glasses and Gothic Vampire Lolita outfit.
– Music blasting from a Samsung S25 Ultra—some weird 2025 synth-pop hit with lyrics like “vibe check complete, I ascended” and “your aura’s mid, unfollowed.”
– Cisco trying to Shazam it while H.R. danced in the background.
– Len and Julian both visibly sweating.
– Rowan trying to crawl toward Barry like a little chaos-seeking missile.
Joe froze. Eddie blinked three times.
Barry turned around dramatically, cape swishing. “Gentlemen! Have you tried flourless chocolate cake?! Also, the moon might break in 2031. Not relevant. What's up?”
Julian quietly tried to intercept the case folder from Eddie without drawing attention.
Didn’t work.
Barry took the folder instead, opened it upside down, nodded seriously.
“Hmm. Yes. Classic 2017 blood smear. Pre-nanobot era. Juicy.”
Joe with the confusion of a father who raised 3 kids turned to Julian “...Julian?”
Julian of course was sweating and answered “He’s… having a very enthusiastic clairvoyant day.”
Eddie squinted his eyes at his brother in law “So, not possessed?”
Cisco crossed his arms and Simply added what everyone should hear. “TBD.”
Len stared at his speedster wife and spoke dryly “He’s just dripping with future. Let him vibe.”
Meanwhile, the 2025 TikTok playlist kept going. This time it was a hyper-pop remix of someone sobbing while doing taxes.
Rowan clapped. Baby-approved.
And Joe, still blinking, turned to John Constantine who had just portaled in from the Sprite Realm, looked around the room, and sighed:
“I was gone for five minutes.”
---
As the TikTok hyper-pop remix turned into a Gregorian chant about taxes, the team collectively decided: yes. It was time.
“Okay, Barry,” Caitlin said gently, stepping forward like one might approach a caffeinated raccoon in vintage couture. “Let’s go to the med bay, alright?”
Barry blinked, pupils wide, pupils too wide, like he just stared directly into the sun and found it underwhelming.
“I love my team,” he whispered. Then louder, arms out dramatically:
“I LOVE YOU ALL. Even you, Constantine. Especially you.”
John, halfway through lighting a cigarette, paused. “...Cheers, mate?”
“Even if the toaster is sentient and plotting vengeance, we’ll be fine!” Barry declared, gripping Cisco’s shoulders. “You get it. You vibe.”
Cisco: “I’m vibing against my will.”
Len and Julian exchanged looks like: Is this what having a husband means? Did we sign a waiver?
Meanwhile, H.R. was googling “toaster exorcisms” on a tablet. Baby Rowan, clutched in Ronnie’s arms, offered his own soft babble of concern.
Julian gently took Barry’s hand. “Let’s lie down before you declare war on kitchen appliances, yeah?”
Barry with his large eyes added on “The fridge has secrets.”
Harry Wells E-2 stepped aside, holding open the med bay door like this happened weekly. “He’s acting exactly like Tess during the Nyx-14 Temporal Flu. We’ll run diagnostics.”
Constantine muttered to the Speed Force, who just smiled and said: “He’s not broken, just… multidimensional.”
Cisco, from the hallway yelled “IS THAT WORSE?!”
Barry, flopped gracefully onto the med bay bed, sighed dreamily, staring at the ceiling. “Did I mention I love you guys?”
Everyone just yelled “Yes.”
Barry with soft eyes Happily answered “Good. You should know. Because the microwave’s starting to look at me funny.”
In short Barry had his team he could trust that team and even if he acted like a feral racoon
Chapter 34: “The Microwaves Whisper, But So Does Destiny”
Chapter Text
May 13, 2017
Barry was… alive. Which, in fairness, was a low bar—but a welcome win. After nearly bleeding out from a spiritual Wi-Fi overload, the fact that he could sit up on his couch, cat-eye glasses slightly askew, wrapped in a vampire cape like a fashion-forward bat burrito, was something.
His phone (from 2025, still no one knew how he snuck that past the time gods) rested on his chest, playing a playlist titled “✨Post-Sprite-Visions Vibes✨”. First track? A K-pop-Taylor Swift collab that Cisco simply wrote down in his "Time Crimes to Investigate Later" list.
“Morning, babe,” Len said, crouched beside the couch like a worried raccoon boyfriend. Julian hovered right behind him with a thermometer, an eyedropper, and an expression that screamed “I swear if you start bleeding from your earlobes next I’m retiring.”
Barry blinked once. Then twice.
“I dreamed my teeth were radios.”
Julian blinked. “...Did they work?”
“Yes. 80’s jazz. I think I’m haunted by saxophones.”
Len just sighed, kissed Barry’s forehead, and muttered something vaguely Russian and definitely affectionate. “I miss when you were just dramatically self-sacrificing. Now you’re dramatically clairvoyant and deranged.”
---
Downstairs in STAR Labs’ lower levels, Cisco, Jesse, Dante, and H.R. were huddled at the big whiteboard now labeled:
BARRY-WISDOM BOARD
“Things Barry Has Said That Might Be Important but Also Might Be a Stroke”
“The Gulf of Mexico is now the Gulf of America.”
“Flourless chocolate cake is a warning.”
“2026: Death by drone swan.”
“I love you all.” (underlined six times by Cisco with a small heart)
Joe and Iris were watching from the monitor area. Joe, being Joe, had brought muffins and was choosing to emotionally cope via carbs. Iris was flipping through Barry’s old journals for patterns in his visions. It was half research, half heartbreak, half stubborn big sister energy.
Speed Force Nora stood in the hallway with John Constantine, both sipping coffee like worried godparents.
John muttered, “He’s still glowing like a live wire, but... it’s stabilizing. Somehow.”
Nora nodded, folding her arms. “He’s not dying, per se.”
“Not reassuring,” John sassed.
“Then don’t ask a cosmic entity to lie, darling.”
---
In the med bay, Harrison Wells (original flavor) finished typing up his notes, blood still under his fingernails from yesterday’s horror show. Caitlin had finally passed him wipes but he hadn’t used them. He was too focused on results.
“I’ve seen this before,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Tess... When she crossed too far in.”
Ronnie, bouncing baby Rowan gently beside him, frowned. “Too far into what?”
Harrison looked up. “Realms humans weren’t built to navigate without an anchor.”
Rowan made a noise like “Bah!” as if saying, well no duh, grandpa.
Harrison smirked. “Exactly, kid.”
---
Upstairs, Barry suddenly sat up and looked around.
“Where’s my team?”
Len and Julian froze. “Uh… right here?”
Barry pointed dramatically. “No. The other team. The psychic spies. The Dreamwalkers. The flourless chocolate cake defenders.”
“…He’s still Barry,” Julian sighed.
“But he’s also a little terrifying,” Len added, proud and worried.
Barry blinked, calm as a cryptid.
“I love you both. I just thought about it and realized—I really do.”
Julian dropped the thermometer. Len almost burst into glitter. Upstairs, Cisco lost another bet to Jesse.
---
DeVoe was a man who fancied himself ten steps ahead. He’d uploaded fragments of himself into forgotten servers, hidden in shadows of satellites, even nestled little pieces of code into electric toothbrushes—just in case. Paranoia makes you resourceful.
But tonight? Tonight, he reached for STAR Labs. He extended a psychic thread—a silken, invisible tendril coded in arrogance and high-level quantum manipulation. He didn’t aim to attack, not yet. He wanted to test. To poke. See if the speedster was distracted, weakened by all his temporal nonsense.
What DeVoe didn’t account for was that Barry Allen’s mind was no longer just “the speedster’s.”
It was sprite-charged, spirit-soaked, and currently wrapped in a trauma bow soaked in glitter, clairvoyance, and pure cosmic spite.
The moment that thread brushed Barry’s consciousness, it was like touching a live wire dipped in Red Bull and childhood trauma.
Barry’s eyes snapped open mid-lounge, the cat Glasses flying off his chest with a yowl. He seized up—gasped—and then laughed.
Hysterically. Wildly. Gleefully. Blood trickled from his nose again, but he wiped it away with his cape sleeve like it was glittery tissue.
“He doesn’t get me,” Barry gasped, eyes wide, pupils dilated into the future. “He’s playing checkers. I’m using Ouija.”
The room froze.
Cisco dropped his coffee.
Caitlin and Ronnie jolted from the med bay.
Len and Julian were already at Barry’s side in seconds, one cradling his head, the other checking for a pulse.
Julian whispered, “What the hell just happened—”
“Psychic breach,” Harrison muttered from behind them, where he’d just entered with John and Speed Force Nora. “And it backfired.”
John raised a brow. “Bloody idiot poked a dreamwalker with a solar flare migraine. What’d he expect?”
Nora put a hand on Barry’s temple, glowing softly. “He’s...changing again. He’s no longer just syncing to the Speed Force. He’s syncing to all time.”
Cisco swallowed. “You’re saying—what? Barry’s seeing... the future?”
“No,” Barry croaked, smiling faintly. “I’m feeling it. Every heartbeat out of place. Every event not written yet... I can smell them. Like burnt toast before a lightning strike.”
Caitlin, pale, glanced at her screen. “His temporal signature’s slipping. He’s not just out of sync—he’s... woven.”
And then Barry’s gaze went glassy again.
“I saw the dagger. Not just a dagger. The dagger. Forming. It’s almost here.”
Everyone turned. The silence was suffocating.
Cisco whispered, “Cicada.”
Nora closed her eyes. “Then the countdown begins.”
John cracked his knuckles. “Then we better make this a research mission, luvs. Before your boy becomes a time ghost with a fashion addiction.”
---
Barry stood in the center of the med bay, still wrapped in his gothic ensemble, breathing slowly—finally grounded after the last psychic ambush. Everyone was watching him, but this time not like he might combust, but like they trusted him to lead.
He glanced down at the ring on his finger. It shimmered faintly—a silvery loop etched with protection runes and laced with temporal harmonics. Julian had enchanted it using an old grimoire Constantine smuggled out of a cursed bookstore. Harrison had refined the metal, muttering something about “thermal stabilizers and love.”
Barry nodded. “I’m ready to go in. But this time… I’m going with the tether.”
John Constantine lit a cigarette and immediately got scolded by Caitlin and Nora.
“Right, right,” he muttered, stubbing it out. “Let’s walk the path between lightning and soul, then. No detours unless one of you sees a horse with two mouths—those are bad news.”
Speed Force Nora stepped forward, her hand glowing. “Stay close to me. And don’t touch anything alive unless it asks you nicely.”
Barry smirked. “Got it. Don’t poke things that growl.”
With a shimmer of energy and a quiet hum, the three of them slipped into the Sprite Realm.
---
The moment Barry’s consciousness entered, he felt it: the Sprite Realm had changed. Gone was the soft shimmer of memory and possibility—this was a thunder-wrapped wasteland. Fog churned like boiling water. Lightning danced across shattered ground, and time itself seemed to echo in pulses through the air.
Julian’s ring protected his mind like a velvet barrier—dampening the chaos but not dulling the details.
They saw him.
DeVoe, hunched and calculating, wires snaking from his back as he assembled his Chair from pure willpower and stolen code.
A flicker—Cicada in the distance, raising a jagged dagger carved from spiritual hatred and trauma. His eyes were hollow. He was becoming.
And then, Barry saw it.
A cracked mirror. A child, no older than six, sobbing quietly behind the broken glass, bleeding time from every inch of their tiny body. Their voice was the sound of every lost possibility.
Barry stepped toward them, drawn, heart pounding.
The child looked up, eyes like twin tornados.
“You already changed one future,” they whispered.
“Now they’re all watching.”
Barry felt it—the weight of the multiverse leaning forward.
He gasped and stumbled back—
—and woke up.
---
He was on the STAR Labs couch, soaked in sweat. His hair clung to his forehead. His breathing was shallow but steady.
“Barry?” Len’s voice cracked as he crouched down. “Hey, hey, you with us?”
Julian appeared with water, pressing it to his lips. “Welcome back from the abyss, darling. What did you see?”
Barry swallowed, sat up slowly, and his eyes were no longer wild—they were focused.
“We need to stop Cicada before the dagger bonds to him. And DeVoe? He’s using memory echoes to build his chair early. We’re not ahead—we’re already behind.”
He stood, dripping a little.
“But I know how to catch up.”
---
The second Barry’s eyes blinked open and he declared war on DeVoe and Cicada, the team barely had a moment to breathe before Phase Fried Barry activated.
One minute he was all mission-leader clarity, the next…
“I think I invented chocolate in a past life,” he whispered, absolutely dead serious, curled up in Len’s lap like a futuristic Victorian catboy.
Len blinked. “Okay. You’re definitely on the crispy setting.”
Barry sat up suddenly, kissed Len full on the mouth, and then—immediately—turned to Julian, squinting.
“Julian… do you think light has feelings?”
Julian just nodded slowly like he was a wildlife expert studying a stunned possum.
Wally, arms crossed, muttered to Jesse, “Yup, Barry's brain is scrambled like eggs at a diner on Jupiter.”
H.R. was already halfway through making a Barry Mood Chart. Caitlin was prepping his usual recovery serum. Ronnie had baby Rowan in one arm and a camera in the other—this was entertainment now.
And poor Harrison? He walked in, saw Barry passionately describing the future of biodegradable chocolate wrappers shaped like speedster helmets, and sighed.
“Tess used to do this. Every time she mind-linked with the time anchors. She once tried to adopt the couch.”
Then Barry spun, eyes dilated like a raccoon in a laser pointer factory, and declared:
“Guys! GUYS. We need to invent coffee that vibrates faster. FOR SPEED.”
Glass the Cat meowed in cosmic agreement.
Len sighed fondly, cradling his disaster husband. “Okay, baby. Let’s just get you horizontal before you start talking in binary again.”
Barry dramatically flopped onto the couch, arms open. “I am the binary.”
The team? Panicking slightly—but also? Used to this.
Constantine strolled in, flicked his coat back, looked at Barry, and just nodded.
“Sprite realm fried his brain again, huh?”
Julian: “Yep.”
Constantine: “Better hide the car keys and the time machine.”
---
The chaos ebbed like the tide after a cosmic storm. Barry, still wrapped in Julian’s enchanted protection ring and freshly serum’d by Caitlin, finally stopped rambling about time-traveling chocolate dolphins and fell into a silent, peaceful sleep.
Right into Harrison Wells’ arms.
Original Flavor Wells. The grumpy one. The no-nonsense, dry wit, terrifying intellect, Gordon-Ramsay-during-Hell’s-Kitchen Harrison. That one.
And he didn’t move. Didn’t scowl. Didn’t bark orders.
He just… held Barry. Tight.
Suit wrinkled. Hair askew. Tie flung somewhere over in the medbay like it had fled the scene hours ago. One hand gently cradling the back of Barry’s head, the other making sure his breathing was steady.
Wally whispered, “Is that… is that Harrison? Holding Barry?”
Even Jesse—who knew her dad’s softer side—tilted her head. “He didn’t even yell when Barry called time a ‘sparkly meatloaf’ an hour ago.”
Mick poked Cisco. “You think he’s dead inside?”
Cisco, stunned: “No, dude. That’s love. That’s—I think he just unlocked Dad Mode Level: Endgame.”
Flavour 2 Wells stepped in, glasses reflecting the dimmed lights, and muttered with concern, “I don’t remember me ever doing that unless my kid broke a femur…”
Even baby Rowan, half-asleep on Ronnie’s shoulder, blinked at the scene, pointed his tiny hand at Harrison, and uttered a suspiciously judgmental baby noise like, “Bro??”
Harrison looked up, his voice gruff, tired, but oddly warm.
“He’s fine. Just overloaded again. I’ll monitor him. You all go home.”
No one moved.
So he snapped, “NOW.”
Everyone immediately went home.
Except for Len and Julian, who left coffee, kisses, and quiet muttering in Russian and British despair.
And Harrison?
Stayed.
Suit wrinkled. Speedster gently snoring. Science Dad level: unlocked.
---
Chapter 35: “Two Brain Cells and a Thunder God”
Chapter Text
May 13, 2017
The morning began like any other apocalyptic prep day: jittery nerves, jitterier coffee, and Barry absolutely not mentally stable.
He stood in the center of the Cortex, one eye twitching ever so slightly, hair a frizzed crown of "I fought God and accidentally kissed a timeline," and a look in his eye that said, “I know too much and I regret nothing.”
"Alright, Barry," said Julian gently, holding a datapad like it was holy scripture. "You're going to focus. We're going to try to mentally locate Cicada or DeVoe again."
Barry, already mid-stretch like a ballerina who stole the Speed Force’s eyeliner, nodded dramatically. “Yes. Time to poke a bear made of cyber-worms and sad dads.”
“Why do you make words do that?” Cisco asked, blinking.
Harrison (Original Flavour) just sighed. “Everyone shut up. He’s syncing with the ether again. Keep an eye on his vitals.”
John Constantine stood nearby, leaning against a pillar and lighting a cigarette that he wasn't technically allowed to have. “If he explodes, I'm not cleaning him up.”
The Speed Force—still disguised as Nora but standing a good six foot five and glowing faintly like an angry dawn—placed a glowing hand on Barry’s shoulder. “If he explodes, we rebuild him better.”
Mick mumbled, “Can he get a fridge for a chest? I’ve always wanted to see someone pull a Coke from their ribs.”
“Focus!” barked Caitlin, adjusting Barry’s biomonitor.
Barry closed his eyes.
The room darkened. Sparks fluttered. Lightning crawled down his arms like silver veins. His mind reached outward, sliding through timelines like silk and static.
He found Cicada, a shadow holding pain like armor.
He found DeVoe, building his digital throne, whispering logic like a virus.
He reached—
And then—
Brain high. Immediate. Devastating. Full throttle.
Barry’s eyes flew open, pupils dilated to orbit size. His mouth opened.
And he began speaking fluent, terrifying, absolutely horrifying future truths:
“Canada becomes a world superpower after weaponizing maple syrup,” he said calmly.
Julian dropped the datapad.
Barry blinked, smile growing. “The Moon leaves orbit for two weeks in 2034. People still go to work.”
John stared. “What—”
Barry continued: “The Kardashians form a bloodline that rules a portion of Mars. They bring back pink tracksuits.”
“Okay, okay, okay—” Cisco started to panic. “He's future-drunk. He’s got a future buzz. He’s wine tasting the timeline!”
Barry tilted his head. “The oceans aren’t water. Not really.”
Len groaned. “Baby. You promised no temporal metaphysics before lunch.”
Julian grabbed his arm. “Barry. Barry. Breathe. You're peeking. We need to re-ground you.”
Barry suddenly grinned. “You shaved your legs last night.”
Julian froze.
Len turned, scandalized. “YOU WHAT?”
Meanwhile, the Speed Force looked to Constantine. “I think your boyfriend just unlocked omniscient chaos.”
John, exhaling smoke: “Story of my love life.”
---
19 may 2017
The atmosphere in STAR Labs was thick with tension. Barry had finally woken from his sprite-realm crash nap in Harrison’s arms—well, mostly awake. His pupils still looked like dark portals and he’d whispered something about "the moon falling in 2029, but emotionally."
Julian had declared him "technically fine, medically unstable, and spiritually inconvenient."
They were now seated in the cortex. Everyone was present. Even baby Rowan, who had fallen asleep snuggled in Ronnie’s hoodie pocket like a kangaroo kid. Constantine lit a cigarette before Nora swatted it out of his mouth with an overly tall, very annoyed hand.
Barry sat upright slowly. “They're moving,” he murmured, tone heavy, eyes fixed on something beyond the wall. “Cicada is closer to awakening, and DeVoe...he’s starting to pull minds into his loop.”
Harry 2 adjusted his glasses. “Loop?”
Barry nodded. “He’s using his proto-chair to create a mental dragnet. Anyone who hits a certain IQ threshold or unique psychic frequency... he’s yanking them, testing his reach. He touched me.” Barry shuddered. “But I left a trap. It glittered. He hated it.”
Caitlin: “So, if we follow the psychic trail—”
“Breadcrumbs made of lightning and petty rage,” Barry said proudly. “Yes.”
The team exchanged looks.
Harrison Original sighed, clearly regretting every life choice that brought him here, yet already calculating.
“This is a war of attrition,” he said. “DeVoe is attacking minds. Cicada will attack bodies. So we hit them first. One mind. One heart. One dagger at a time.”
Len slid behind Barry, hand on his shoulder. “We’re not letting you fry your brain alone, babe.”
Julian grunted. “You’ll fry it with supervision, at least.”
John, arms crossed: “I’m guiding the next sprite trip. No negotiations. I’ve had it with this soap opera.”
The plan was taking shape:
Barry would enter the sprite realm to track the source of Cicada’s dagger—tracing its mystical creation to the first echo of its timeline.
Meanwhile, the team would build a counter-mental field generator using Julian’s enchanted ring, Speed Force Nora’s guidance, and Harry’s upgraded tech.
The spark had been lit. The storm was building.
And somewhere in the back of STAR Labs, Barry was quietly muttering, “There’s a talking horse that wins the Kentucky Derby in 2024. He names himself.”
Len quietly pulled him into his lap like, “Shhh, vision boy. Save the brain for later.”
---
Barry stood at the center of the ritual circle like a very sparkly sacrifice. Julian double-checked the enchanted ring on his hand while muttering Latin with the casual boredom of someone who does magic and taxes in the same afternoon. Constantine flicked a lighter with a smirk. “Ready, Flash?”
Barry just grinned. “Always.”
Speed Force Nora’s fingers grazed Barry’s temple. The air went cold. Time bent sideways.
And then—
The sprite realm opened like a scream held too long.
Thunder boomed in reverse. Fog clawed across the landscape. Barry landed—not gently—on ghost grass that flickered like static. He exhaled. “Alright. Come out, you cryptic war criminals.”
He didn’t have to wait long.
From the storm mist emerged DeVoe, seated in a floating chair of raw code and arrogance. Behind him, shadows flickered—Cicada’s form dragging that cursed dagger, every step echoing like a dying heartbeat.
DeVoe smirked. “You keep breaking in here, Mr. Allen. What makes you think this time will be different?”
Barry cracked his neck. “This time, I’m not just looking.”
He blurred forward—and the brawl began.
Psychic warfare rippled first. Barry’s thoughts became fists, and DeVoe hurled corrupted equations like daggers. Cicada threw the dagger—once, twice—each time a metaphysical tether tried to bind Barry to dread, to despair.
Barry grunted and snapped it off. “Nah. I’ve got antidepressants, a husband, and glitter rage.”
He struck DeVoe with a sprite-charged uppercut—pure emotion and memory. Nora appeared like a lightning monolith behind him, chanting in a language that didn’t exist until now.
DeVoe screamed. The chair fractured.
Cicada lunged—but Barry was faster. He used the time echoes of all the people Cicada would have hurt. The memories formed a vortex and dragged Cicada backward. He dropped the dagger—and Barry caught it mid-air.
“History says you stabbed me,” Barry whispered. “Let’s rewrite that.”
The dagger shattered.
With a final surge of Speed Force light and Constantine’s chant echoing from the physical plane, the realm shook—DeVoe’s chair exploded in pixels. Cicada was yanked back into nothingness, unformed and undone.
The realm faded.
---
Back in STAR Labs—
Barry collapsed into Len’s arms, sparks still clinging to his hair.
“Did we win?” he muttered, eyes fluttering.
Len kissed his forehead. “You ended two sociopaths, nearly broke time, and monologued like a boss. I’m buying you a cake.”
Harrison Original muttered, “That’s it. I’m banning psychic brawls before breakfast.”
---May 19, 2017
Barry opened his eyes slowly, as if even his eyelashes were exhausted. He was splayed across STAR Labs’ most expensive recliner like a Victorian fainting prince.
Len, sitting beside him with his jacket tossed over Barry’s lap, leaned down. “How’s the brain, sparkplug?”
Barry blinked. “Fried. Buttered. Served with toast.”
Julian handed him water and kissed his temple. “You almost rewired time. Again. Are you… feeling alright?”
Barry sat up like someone possessed. “I want vodka.”
Everyone blinked.
“Get me vodka,” Barry insisted, eyes wide. “Len, you're Russian. That’s, like, your natural duty.”
Len, deadpan: “That’s… not how it works.”
Cisco wheezed in the background. “I’m sorry—did our speedster just demand culturally accurate liquor?”
Barry waved a hand. “If I can spiritually fistfight a metaphor, I can have one drink.”
Julian sighed and looked at Len. “I’ll get the pain meds. You get the vodka. Apparently, I married chaos.”
Len muttered, “I married two people and somehow still didn’t get the sane one.”
Meanwhile, the rest of the team had paused their Cicada/DeVoe cleanup plans to just… watch.
Wally whispered to Jesse, “Should we stop this?”
Jesse grinned. “Absolutely not. This is the best soap opera I’ve ever seen.”
Back to Barry—
He stood up. Wobbled. And then in his brightest voice:
“I would now like to sprint across the timeline, find my favorite bakery in 2050, and maybe rewire Saturn’s rings into a bracelet.”
Len: “Sit. Down.”
Barry: “No.”
Julian: “Barry. Darling. You’re still wearing hospital socks.”
Barry: “Perfect traction for existential choices.”
Speed Force Nora appeared just long enough to say:
“If you try time travel again today, I will ground you in fourteen different dimensions.”
Barry: “…Fine. But I’m still getting that cake.”
---May 19, 2017, Later That Night
Title: “The Soft Aftermath”
Barry had finally, finally been forced into a sitting position by the combined powers of two lovers, a morally flexible British mage, and Caitlin threatening a sedative.
He was now bundled like a cursed burrito in three blankets, a heat pack on his neck, and Len's arm around his shoulder like a seatbelt made of sarcasm.
John Constantine, appearing in the most dramatic swirl of cigarette smoke imaginable, dropped a bottle of something that smelled like “bad choices aged in oak” on the counter.
“You know, I came here to stop you from tearing through the veil of reality again. But honestly?” He looked Barry over. “You look like if a fever dream made fashion choices.”
Barry smiled, bleary and glittery. “Thanks, dad.”
John blinked. “I’m not—... You know what? Fine. I'm dad now. I want a tax credit.”
The room was warm, full of low light, weird music from the future (courtesy of Barry’s unhinged Spotify), and people who maybe should be in therapy but were instead watching reruns of Barry almost dying.
Wally, Jesse, and Caitlin were baking something that might be brownies. Cisco and HR were trying to figure out if Barry’s blanket could be turned into a wearable cape for him to monologue from. Baby Rowan was asleep on Ronnie’s chest, snoring like a tiny bear cub.
Julian gently brushed Barry’s curls back and murmured, “We’re not going to let them hurt you. Not DeVoe. Not Cicada. Not any of them.”
Len pressed a kiss to Barry’s cheek. “Next time you fry your brain, I’m getting you a helmet.”
Barry grinned. “As long as it's sparkly.”
John took a swig from the bottle and muttered to Speed Force Nora, who’d silently appeared beside him:
“This one’s your favorite, isn’t he?”
She smirked. “They’re all my favorite. But he’s my problem child.”
John raised his glass. “To the problem child.”
And everyone—somehow, someway—joined in.
Because chaos was family now.
---
Chapter 36: "A Night Worth Breaking Time For"
Notes:
I sincerely apologise for not uploading I very unfortunately have kidney stones and had to be hospitalised because I was in pain and severely dehydrated
Hopefully I'll update tonight
Chapter Text
May 21, 2017
Nora Allen adjusted her son's collar with the intensity of a military general prepping for war.
“You look very handsome,” she said, smoothing the ruffles on Barry’s dark burgundy dress shirt. “And alive. Try to stay that way tonight.”
Barry blinked at her. “That’s the plan.”
“That wasn’t reassuring,” Henry muttered, handing Barry his enchanted ring—polished, recharged, and totally unnecessary for a dinner date unless they were anticipating temporal rifts and/or awkward silences.
But tonight wasn’t about saving the world.
Tonight was date night.
A long overdue, very orchestrated, extremely not-chill date night—engineered by two dangerously determined partners.
Len had picked the restaurant—some underground, speakeasy-style five-star marvel in New Orleans, hidden beneath a jazz bar, with velvet booths and chandeliers that looked like they’d witnessed murders and love affairs in equal measure.
Julian, on the other hand, had handled everything else.
Private jet.
Silk-lined suitcases.
A hotel suite that probably had gold-plated bathtubs, a telescope for stargazing, and throw pillows made of financial regret.
Barry, still mentally tired from his last spirit trip, just wanted dessert and his partners. Preferably at the same time.
—
Meanwhile, on the jet—because of course it was a jet:
Len sipped something old and whiskey-colored. “So, not Paris?”
Julian, buttoning Barry’s cufflinks with suspicious gentleness, smirked. “Please. Paris is for proposals. This is just courtship.”
Barry blinked. “Did you just say ‘just’ and ‘courtship’ in the same sentence while I’m wearing shoes that cost more than my student loans?”
“Shhh,” Julian whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’ll ruin the mystique.”
Len, watching both of them with the expression of a man who’d kill to freeze this moment and keep it in his pocket forever, shrugged. “If he ruins the mystique, we’ll just make a new one.”
Barry’s ears turned red.
—
Back at STAR Labs:
Cisco whispered, “They’re gonna be insufferable when they come back.”
Caitlin nodded. “I give it twelve hours before someone walks in on a makeout session next to the time vault.”
HR, holding Rowan, whispered conspiratorially, “I ship them harder than Amazon Prime.”
—
The restaurant was lush and theatrical—dim red lighting, candle flames flickering in antique sconces, and a jazz quartet playing like they had secrets. But Len could tell. Barry wasn’t tasting his food. Julian had caught on too—somewhere between course five and the bottle of wine Barry barely touched.
So, naturally, they dragged him upstairs.
The rooftop was quiet, bathed in the golden haze of the city below. New Orleans stretched out like a spell—humid, musical, alive. And Barry was vibrating.
“Alright,” Len said, undoing the top button of his collar and tossing his jacket over a patio chair. “Spill.”
Barry leaned against the railing. “I didn’t wanna ruin the night.”
“You’re vibrating through the concrete, love,” Julian muttered, standing beside him. “That ship’s sailed. Hit us.”
Barry closed his eyes, breathing in the night.
“I saw a child,” he said. “In the Sprite Realm. Behind a cracked mirror. Crying. I touched the mirror and it whispered: You already changed one future. Now they’re all watching.”
Len didn’t say anything. Julian’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not just DeVoe or Cicada,” Barry continued. “It’s everything. The changes we’ve made—they’re dominoes. Good ones. Bad ones. Ones we haven’t even seen yet.”
He turned to them then, eyes shimmering like a damn galaxy. “What if I mess this up? What if I burn too hot or fly too fast and I lose everything I’m trying to protect?”
Julian stepped forward first, reaching for his hand. “Then we’ll burn with you.”
Len added, “And build you a faster suit.”
Barry gave a watery laugh. “You guys suck at comfort.”
Julian smirked. “We’re scientists. Not therapists.”
Len leaned in, brushed Barry’s temple with his thumb. “You’ve already changed everything, Barry. But you didn’t do it alone. You’ve got us. And this time, the timeline doesn’t get to take that away.”
Barry looked between them—his criminal and his alchemist. And he felt the weight lessen.
They weren’t his anchors.
They were his wings.
“Alright,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “But only if you both kiss me at the same time.”
“Greedy,” Julian whispered, but leaned in.
“So greedy,” Len echoed, doing the same.
The rooftop caught fire in slow, perfect, quiet ways.
Below, New Orleans sang.
Above, time briefly stood still for a speedster in love.
—
After the rooftop, the night wound down in the gentle way only real love allows. Their suite overlooked the river—windows open, moonlight painting silver across the floor. Barry curled between Len and Julian, half in their arms, half on fire from how much he felt. The moment held. For a while.
Until it didn’t.
Until the silence shifted.
Barry whispered, “I had another vision.”
Julian tensed. Len rubbed his thumb over Barry’s knuckles but didn’t speak.
Barry continued, voice barely audible. “I saw myself alone. The city was gone. Star Labs, rubble. Everyone was... gone. I was running and screaming and no one—no one—answered.”
He paused. “Except DeVoe. He said, You should’ve let time rot naturally. Now it rots around you.”
Julian sat up slightly, panic flickering behind his calm. “It’s just a vision.”
“It’s a possibility,” Barry said. “A warning.”
Len sighed. “Then we treat it like we treat all bad possibilities—we beat the hell out of it before it breathes.”
But Barry shook his head. “What if I become that? What if I go too far trying to stop things before they happen?”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Len leaned in, pressed a kiss to Barry’s temple. “Then we stop you, Barry. Because that’s love, too.”
“And then we fix it with you,” Julian added. “Because we’re in this. Every vision. Every time fracture. Every panic spiral. We stay.”
Barry closed his eyes. “What if staying gets you hurt?”
“Then I hope I look hot bleeding,” Len muttered. Julian groaned beside him.
Barry smiled. Just a little.
But outside, on the edge of the world, the mirror child watched.
And whispered to the void: They chose love. That’s when everything changed.
—
May 22, 2017 – 10:17 AM
Barry returned to STAR Labs wearing another outrageously dramatic outfit—high-collared coat trailing like a cape, storm-colored silk, and matching boots that could kill a man in stilettos (Len’s words). He looked every bit the powerful, chaotic, mystic speedster everyone feared and admired. But his eyes were shadowed.
Dark-ringed. Hollow.
And Rowan reached for him from Ronnie’s arms with a soft, “Daa?”
Barry smiled for show. “Hey, kiddo.”
The team was gathered, trying not to stare.
Caitlin whispered to Cisco, “He looks like he didn’t sleep.”
Cisco whispered back, “He looks like sleep tried and lost.”
Wally approached carefully, holding a fresh coffee. “You okay, B?”
Barry blinked. “Define ‘okay’ in the timeline where I saw myself screaming in a void of nothingness while DeVoe called me a time blight.”
“…Y’know, context helps,” Wally replied, stepping back slightly.
Barry slumped into a swivel chair. He spun once. Twice. Then stopped and groaned into his knees. “I love them. I really love them. And that makes everything harder.”
Julian had just walked in and paused. “Well. I suppose I’ll hold off on the espresso machine installation.”
Len leaned against the doorway. “He’s spiraling.”
“Yeah,” said Julian, “but he looks fabulous doing it.”
HR handed Barry a sticky note that just said YOU ARE A WIZARD and Barry softly replied, “That’s the nicest thing I’ve read in twelve hours.”
Then—
The lights flickered.
Barry froze.
His hands gripped the chair arms.
“I see it again,” he whispered.
Cisco’s monitors began glitching—images of Cicada’s dagger forming, DeVoe’s eyes shining with static lightning. Future fragments clawing through present screens. And in the middle: a reflection of Barry in an infinite mirror, staring at himself like a stranger.
He whispered: “It’s changing again.”
And Speed Force Nora appeared behind him—not in body, but as a gust, a shimmer, a feeling. Soft and tall and glowing. Her voice inside their heads.
Then change faster, sweetheart.
—
May 22, 2017 – 11:04 AM
Everyone had cleared the room.
Some with soft excuses—Cisco pulling HR gently by the collar, Wally taking Jesse’s hand, Caitlin brushing Rowan’s hair back and whispering, “Let’s go find Daddy Ronnie.” Joe stood at the door just long enough to look at Barry… and nodded.
Then it was quiet.
Just Barry, Len, and Julian.
Barry had his back to them, his head down, gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing holding him together.
“I saw myself die,” he finally said. “Not heroically. Not with purpose. Just… fade. Like I was meant to disappear. And no one noticed.”
Julian stepped forward first. “We’d notice.”
Len moved beside him. “We’d burn the damn world down.”
Barry didn’t turn around. “I’m scared it’s true. That if I disappeared—really disappeared—everything would just… fix itself.”
There was a long silence.
Then Julian, voice steady but too soft, said, “You think the world’s holding its breath waiting for you to vanish?”
Barry didn’t answer.
“You think we wouldn’t feel it?” Len added, stepping closer. “That Rowan wouldn’t reach out for you? That Jesse and Wally wouldn’t wear your stupid matching jackets and pretend they’re not terrified? That we—me and Jules—wouldn’t rip time apart to find you?”
Barry finally turned. Tears. Just enough to ruin the eyeliner Cisco had applied for fun.
“I broke once. I don’t know if I can come back if it happens again.”
Julian reached him first, hands on Barry’s face, grounding him. “Then don’t break alone.”
Len pressed in behind him, arms circling Barry’s waist, cheek against his shoulder. “We’ve got you, dumbass.”
Barry exhaled like it hurt.
And for a minute, there were no speed forces. No villains. No visions. No timelines.
Just three people and the ache of being too in love to let go.
—
Chapter 37: "Two Brain Cells, One Big Problem"
Chapter Text
May 28, 2017
Star Labs was buzzing—literally. The monitors were flashing warnings like a Christmas tree in a panic attack.
Barry stood in the center of the cortex, arms crossed, cat-eye glasses on his nose, an all-black ensemble lined in electric blue embroidery like he’d walked straight off a haute couture runway themed end of the world but make it fashion.
“Okay, DeVoe’s trying to hijack the entire multiversal thought-stream and Cicada is back there playing Fruit Ninja with his murder dagger,” Barry deadpanned, scrolling on his future phone. “So we’re going to have to multitask, people.”
Wally blinked. “What’s the plan, exactly?”
Barry smirked. “Simple. I handle the floating iPad with a god complex. You all punch the dagger cultist until he sleeps. Divide and conquer, baby.”
“Can I shoot someone?” Len asked, loading a cold gun with enough drama to make it a musical number.
“I am counting on it,” Barry replied sweetly. “Just don’t shoot Cicada in the soul. He might have one. Allegedly.”
Julian appeared with the enchanted ring, raising a brow. “You’re not going in unprotected this time.”
Barry slipped the ring on, winked. “Aww, you do love me.”
“Desperately. Now don’t die.”
“Can’t. I have brunch plans.” Barry turned to HR. “You’re with me.”
“Wait, why me?” HR asked, clutching a modified espresso machine with wires sticking out.
“Because your brain doesn’t work in normal ways and we might need that. And also because you owe me for microwaving glitter in the break room last week.”
“I thought it would sparkle more,” HR muttered.
“Let’s move, team.” Barry zipped forward, turning once to look at the whole group. His eyes glowed faintly blue from the sprite energy swirling inside him.
“DeVoe thinks he’s smarter than us? Cool. Let’s show him we don’t need to be smart—just unpredictable, unhinged, and dressed for war.”
He grinned.
“Let’s go ruin a villain’s whole week.”
---
---
The Thinker Fight:
DeVoe had gone full digital overlord—his consciousness stretching through screens, static, wires, and ambient dread. The Cortex trembled under the weight of a thousand simulated voices, each one whispering, calculating, condescending.
Barry’s body was still, locked in place, eyes glowing like starlight refracted through tears. His lips twitched.
“Don’t let him in,” Julian snapped, clutching Barry’s shoulders.
Too late. DeVoe launched a psychic spear.
Except—it didn’t land. It splashed into Barry’s mind like a rock into glitter-infused molasses. Confetti. Screaming violins. A flickering memory of Henry Allen in a paper crown on Christmas.
“This mind…” DeVoe’s voice cracked through reality like broken glass. “This isn’t logic. This is chaos—wrapped in grief—sparkling with entropy!”
“Yeah,” Barry muttered, smiling dazedly. “I got weird.”
Then his nose bled. Hard.
Julian didn’t hesitate. He slammed the enchanted ring against his own palm, whispering the spell Harrison had painstakingly crafted. The feedback surged from Barry into Julian like a lightning bolt flavored with trauma and cinnamon.
Barry gasped. Stabilized. Eyes cleared.
DeVoe reared back in digital agony.
And then HR stepped forward.
Holding… a chrome espresso machine with red tape and attitude.
“Time to foam your circuits,” he grinned.
He pressed the button.
The EMP pulse flared—a mix of caffeine, electromagnetic chaos, and sheer spite. DeVoe screamed. All around them, lights exploded in showers of sparks.
Barry stood slowly. “He’s not dead, but he’s definitely rebooting.”
Julian looked like he’d aged six years. “Next time you bleed on me, I’m invoicing your insurance.”
Barry grinned. “You’re so hot when you’re cranky.”
---
The Cicada Fight:
Meanwhile, chaos had its own chapter outside.
Cicada was mid-air, dagger flying toward Jesse with pinpoint death.
CRACK.
Len’s cold gun fired. The dagger iced over and exploded into shards—cutting the connection between it and its master.
Caitlin, eyes glowing ice-blue, froze the battlefield into a gleaming rink.
Wally zipped through, a streak of neon fury, disarming Cicada like he was taking toys from a toddler.
Cisco opened a breach-vortex, the force of it yanking Cicada off his feet, flinging him into a swirl of energy.
Len caught him mid-flail by the collar.
“You picked the wrong meta family, borscht-for-brains.”
Cicada blinked. “What the hell does borscht mean?”
“Google it,” Cisco muttered, cuffing him.
---
Barry and the others regrouped.
Two down. Multiverse to go.
And Barry? Still had glitter in his hair.
---
---
The fight was over. But the crash always came after.
Back at STAR Labs, Barry sat on the floor, knees drawn up, glitter stuck in his eyelashes like stubborn trauma. His hands trembled just slightly—psychic aftershock or too much emotional espresso, no one could tell.
Julian knelt in front of him, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek with a cloth far too soft for war. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Len stood behind Julian, arms crossed, cold gun holstered. “We thought you fried your brain. Again.”
Barry blinked up at them. “Nah. Just scrambled it. Realigned it with the metaphysical laws of cosmic affection.”
“...He’s still fried,” Julian muttered.
“Definitely crispy,” Len added, but his voice was soft. Too soft for someone who had just face-punched a cult leader with a glowing knife.
Barry reached out, took both their hands, and pulled them down beside him.
“I love you,” he said plainly. No sass. No deflection. Just: truth.
Julian’s breath hitched.
Len stared.
Barry, still glittery, added, “Like. Real love. Capital L. Scary L. I’d walk into time itself barefoot for you both. I’d drink gas station coffee for you. I’d let Constantine pick a Netflix show.”
“You are definitely fried,” Julian whispered, but his hand was on Barry’s face, thumb brushing his cheek.
Len kissed his forehead. “No more dying on psychic planes, zaychik.”
Barry leaned into him. “I’ll try. But I make no promises.”
---
The others had cleared the Cortex to give them space. John lit a cigarette in the hall and nodded to Nora (Speed Force Edition), who was adjusting her six-inch boots like she hadn’t just helped fry an egotistical brain villain.
Nora sighed, leaning against the wall. “They’re finally saying it.”
“Yeah,” John muttered. “About damn time.”
---
Inside, Barry was cradled between the two men he loved, too exhausted to move, but smiling.
“I think… I think I want cake,” he mumbled.
“Flourless chocolate?” Julian asked gently.
Barry nodded.
Len stood. “I’ll bake it.”
“You bake?” Barry blinked.
Len smirked. “You’ve kissed me, shared a bed with me, nearly died in front of me, and this is the thing that surprises you?”
Barry grinned. “You really are husband material.”
---
Chapter 38: “Retail Therapy, But Make It Meta”
Chapter Text
May 30, 2017
---
The Time War was over. The villains were defeated. And the team?
They were at West Park High-End Emporium, the kind of luxury mall where you had to be invited to spend your money. Half of them shouldn’t be allowed here. The other half own shares in it.
Twenty-three chaotic, gifted, impossibly over-dressed weirdos, entering like it was a crossover episode between “Succession,” “The Avengers,” and “Queer Eye: Speedster Edition.”
---
Barry Allen, still soft from psychic frying, wore black silk joggers, red-soled boots, a “Speed But Make It Fashion” mesh tee, and round Gucci sunglasses that were absolutely stolen from Julian. He had no idea where they were going. He was just promised “sparkly capitalism.”
Julian, walking beside him in high-end neutrals and looking like a Bond villain on a vacation, had a credit card with no limit and no chill.
Len, chewing gum and wearing mirrored sunglasses indoors, had already scoped out which store had the strongest AC and which had champagne in the dressing rooms.
Constantine, holding hands with the six-foot-five man-shaped Speed Force in designer robes, muttered, “I can’t believe I’m on a date with time itself.”
The Speed Force, now introducing himself as “Asher,” simply smiled and said, “I wanted a candle from Diptyque. Is that so wrong?”
---
Caitlin and Ronnie were pushing baby Rowan in a gold-accented stroller. Rowan wore baby sunglasses. The glasses had baby diamonds. No one questioned it.
Cisco and Dante were debating over two different matching jackets at Balenciaga. “We’re saving the multiverse, we deserve layers,” Cisco reasoned.
Mick and Lisa were in Spite Shopping Mode™. Mick had a bag full of weird tech and Lisa was trying to get Rowan to call her “auntie sparkle.”
Joe and Eddie followed cautiously, trying to keep the group from setting off a fashion-based apocalypse. Eddie, meanwhile, was trying to convince Iris that buying a $2,000 trench coat was “strategic in the event of a sudden spy mission.”
Wally and Jesse, matching in lime green and silver, had already done two laps and were currently pretending to be influencers for the drama.
Tess and Harrison Wells (Original Flavour) were buying extremely expensive tea. No one asked. Harrison had a scarf worth more than STAR Labs.
Harry Wells (Earth-2) had already thrown a fit at the customer service kiosk because they didn’t have his preferred pen refills.
HR Wells? Fully drinking an oat milk latte from a perfume shop and trying on hats.
---
Eventually, the whole team gathered in the VIP lounge like some polycule of destiny.
Barry, sprawled on a velvet couch, raised a flute of mall champagne and said, “To the best damn team in the multiverse.”
“Cheers,” Julian murmured, clinking glasses with him, then Len. “And to surviving Barry’s brain trips.”
“And to cake later,” Rowan whispered dramatically. (Everyone ignored the fact that babies aren’t supposed to talk that well.)
---
It was one of those days that would become a memory stitched into time itself.
They were chaos. They were heart.
And for once, they had time to breathe.
---
---
Barry was mid sip of overpriced mall espresso when he caught the sight.
John Constantine, Hellblazer Extraordinaire, King of Bad Decisions, was leaning very close to Asher—who, despite being the living concept of the Speed Force, currently looked like a six-foot-five male model dressed by ancient gods and Calvin Klein.
And Asher? Was smiling back. Coyly. Like entropy and time dilation weren’t their hobbies.
Barry blinked. Sipped his drink. Blinked again. Then, with the slow shuffle of a stunned ghost, turned and beelined for his parents.
Henry and Nora were at a gourmet chocolate stall, trying free samples and bickering softly over dark versus milk.
Barry leaned into them, sunglasses sliding down his nose.
“Dad. Mom.”
Both turned, blinking sweetly.
“Dad and Mom are flirting.”
They stared. “Barry, what?”
Barry just pointed behind him where Constantine was currently offering Asher a light for a cigarette made of starstuff.
Henry blinked. Nora tilted her head like a confused bird.
“Oh,” Henry finally said, “he meant the conceptual dad and mom…”
“Yeah,” Barry muttered, sipping again. “I am emotionally fried and yet somehow still processing that Constantine is romancing speed itself.”
Nora gently rubbed his back. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Across the lounge, Dante had watched the entire scene with a flat expression. He turned to Cisco, who was currently testing a holographic wristwatch.
“Nope. We’re leaving. Tech store. Now. Before Barry says something like ‘Time is my stepmom now.’”
“Too late,” Barry called over cheerfully.
Cisco dragged Dante away by the elbow, muttering, “Let’s go before he introduces Time and John as his metaphysical in-laws.”
Meanwhile, HR had just put on a fedora, turned to Lisa, and whispered, “Should I be flirting with gravity or is that too basic?”
Lisa said, “Try thermodynamics, it’s hotter.”
Chaos.
Beautiful, fabulous, team-therapy chaos.
---
---
They all sat down in a high-end restaurant where the menu didn’t have prices—just poetic food descriptions and suspicious flourishes like “infused,” “deconstructed,” and “whispered over by Italian ghosts.”
Table for 23? Absolutely.
The maître d' only blinked once when John Constantine strolled in holding hands with a 6’5 celestial being dressed like Zeus had a fashion blog.
At the main table sat:
Barry, Len, and Julian — a triangle of charm, chaos, and cheekbones
Henry and Nora — clearly still shocked their son now casually battles god concepts
Wells Original Flavour and Tess Morgan — more romantic than everyone else but still dangerously blunt
Cisco and Dante — having a chopstick duel over who gets the last truffle gyoza
Wally, Jesse, and Tess — matching Barry’s fashion again in moody black jackets that screamed “we fight crime and know haute couture”
HR, Lisa, and Mick — arguing over cocktails with names like Death By Lavender and Citrus Sorrow
Caitlin, Ronnie, and baby Rowan — Rowan was sipping melted ice and judging everyone
Joe, Iris, and Eddie — trying to keep the normal vibe while seated next to the literal Speed Force
Harry Earth-2 — sipping wine like this wasn’t his fourth multiversal sibling dinner
---
“Alright,” Barry said dramatically, adjusting his oversized sunglasses, “we’ve got three menus, six people with allergies, one demon exorcist dating the flow of velocity, and no one knows what smoked moonlight aioli actually means. Who wants appetizers?”
“I want an exorcism,” Julian muttered, eyeing the wine list. “These prices are in euro, yen, and a soul.”
“Vodka,” Len said without looking up. “Russian, neat. I’m home.”
Across the table, John Constantine was nodding, fully involved in some kind of celestial flirting that involved whispered equations and eternal entropy. Barry just covered his face and whispered to his dad, “If they start glowing, I’m leaving through the floor.”
Wells Original leaned over and deadpanned, “If anyone sets fire to this restaurant with cosmic love beams, I’m grounding the entire multiverse. Even you, Barry.”
“You can’t ground me,” Barry started.
“I built your time-tether bracelet, glitterbrain.”
Everyone paused as the Speed Force-as-a-man elegantly ordered “everything that has touched starlight.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Is that on the menu?”
The waiter blinked. “It is now.”
---
By dessert, Cisco and Dante were arm wrestling over the last molten cake while HR tried to convince the waiter to sell him a cocktail recipe and Mick just took the absinthe straight from the cart.
Barry, Jesse, Wally, and Tess posed for a photo, all four in matching jackets, giving off strong vampire-kid band energy. Lisa immediately tagged it: “Team Speed Vamps—bite at Mach 3.”
Across the table, Wells Original was gently wiping Rowan’s mouth with a napkin while Tess smiled.
“God, he’s so soft with kids,” Iris whispered to Caitlin.
“Don’t be fooled,” Caitlin said. “Fifteen minutes ago, he told me I was an ‘idiot sandwich’ for trying to recalibrate the particle stabilizer with jammed nails.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” Cisco called out.
---
By the time the check came, no one even asked the total.
Julian handed over a card with a bored expression. “Put it on my father’s guilt.”
Len raised a brow. “Hot.”
Barry just leaned on both of them, kissed their cheeks, and whispered, “If we survive this team, we can survive anything.”
John? Still flirting with time itself.
And everyone? Just happy to have one night where the only explosions were flavor-based.
---
---
The desserts arrived like a sweet armada of madness—glittery parfaits, molten things that sizzled like they were carbonated, and at least one scoop of gelato smoking from dry ice and ambition.
And somehow, HR was narrating all of it like he was on a Food Network competition. “And here we have the ‘Chocolate Suffering with Raspberry Regret’—a dish so rich, I felt personally judged by it.”
Everyone laughed.
Barry, holding a very asleep baby Rowan against his chest, had a rare moment of total peace—just leaning into Len’s side, Julian’s hand resting on his thigh. His lashes fluttered, his smile lazy and genuine.
“Rowan’s gonna be the chillest speedster ever,” Jesse whispered, snapping a quick photo.
“Or the most chaotic,” Wally replied. “Especially if HR keeps babysitting.”
HR raised his martini glass. “To the baby who fell asleep in the arms of chaos. May he wake up with caffeine in his veins and sarcasm in his heart.”
Nora Allen wiped a tear from her eye, nudging Henry gently. “Look at them. Our baby’s surrounded by family. Real, ridiculous, powerful family.”
Henry smiled, eyes crinkled. “Even John’s smiling. That’s how you know the end is near.”
Across the room, Joe was deep in a very dad-proud conversation with John Constantine and the human embodiment of the Speed Force, now dubbed “Nolan” and dressed like a Calvin Klein model with glowing eyes.
Joe nodded. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: you dating a concept, or HR still being alive.”
“I’ve been murdered more times than I’ve been kissed,” HR called. “But it’s okay. I’m lovable now.”
Iris and Eddie were quietly whispering at their end of the table, her head tucked into his shoulder, both grinning as they watched the younger half of the team argue over whether lemon basil ice cream was a crime.
Len raised an eyebrow as Barry let out a sleepy giggle.
“What’s funny, babe?”
Barry blinked. “I was just thinking... this is what we fight for.”
Julian leaned in. “Desserts?”
Barry smiled wider. “No. Moments like this.”
Then he looked down at Rowan in his arms.
“And babies who drool on five-thousand-dollar suits.”
“Excuse you,” Julian huffed, mock insulted. “This is six-thousand-dollar Italian wool.”
“...Damn, he’s sleeping fancy,” Cisco muttered.
---
As the night wound down and coffee was served, the team slowly dissolved into relaxed conversation and sugar crashes.
HR was doing impressions. Caitlin and Tess were planning a spa day. Mick tried to steal a fondue pot. Wells Original pretended not to see it.
And Barry?
He sat between Len and Julian, a content speedster in a world that—however chaotic—was finally his.
---
---
The West house was quiet—but the full kind of quiet, where the air was heavy with the scent of laughter long gone and full stomachs finally at rest.
Barry was in his old room. Not the time-travel-altered one or the alternate timeline version—just the small, cozy room with the creaky floorboard and the framed photo of the original Team Flash on the desk.
He exhaled, sinking onto the bed, toeing off his boots. His head was fuzzy, but not fried. The soft kind of exhaustion that came from knowing no one was bleeding, kidnapped, possessed, or about to explode.
Joe walked by the open door and paused. “You good, Bare?”
Barry glanced up and offered the smallest, fondest smile. “Yeah. I promised I’d come back here until I fixed everything… So, here I am.”
Joe stepped in, leaned against the doorframe like always. “That was a long time ago.”
“I know,” Barry said, laying back. “But the vow still matters.”
Down the hall, Wally was watching a documentary about parkour goats. Iris was brushing her teeth and humming some old Taylor Swift song. Eddie had already fallen asleep face-first on a couch he claimed was “too soft for mortal men.”
Joe chuckled softly. “You’ve already fixed more than you broke.”
Barry looked up at the ceiling. “Still feels like I owe something.”
Joe walked in and ruffled his hair—despite Barry’s muffled protest—and dropped a folded blanket over him.
“You owe yourself rest. Start there.”
Barry blinked up at him. “...Dad move.”
Joe grinned. “You’re in my house, under my roof, eating my leftover pasta salad at 2 a.m. You’re damn right it’s a dad move.”
He turned to leave. “Goodnight, son.”
Barry closed his eyes, heart calm.
“Goodnight, dad.”
And for the first time in months, Barry Allen fell asleep without any visions. No Sprite Realm. No migraines. No screaming prophecies. Just the soft hum of a house filled with people who loved him.
---
Chapter 39: "A disaster in silk"
Chapter Text
---
April 5 2017 – 11:43 PM
The penthouse lights were low, the kind of golden haze that made shadows dance and intentions unspoken seem louder than words.
Barry walked in, tired from the chaos of the day, but wearing that slow-burn smirk. The kind that said “I’ve seen the timeline, and tonight’s about to get spicy.”
He dropped his jacket—leather, unnecessarily tight, and definitely not STAR Labs issued—over the back of a chair, and looked up to find Julian and Leonard both watching him like a predator sandwich with a speedster filling.
Julian, hair tousled from the shower, stood by the window with a glass of whiskey, sleeves rolled to his elbows and wearing a button-up that didn’t even pretend to be fully closed.
Len was seated in the armchair, legs lazily crossed, robe undone just enough to distract and intimidate. A half-finished glass of wine sat by his side, untouched now that Barry was in view.
“Tell me,” Julian said softly, “did you run here?”
“Maybe,” Barry replied, walking in slow, that trademark wiggle in his hips that was entirely accidental, probably. “Missed you both.”
“Cute,” Len drawled, tilting his head. “Still buzzing?”
Barry reached them, let his fingers trace Julian’s wrist, then Len’s collarbone. “Little bit. Brain’s still cooked from earlier. Might say weird stuff. Might say I love you. Might levitate. Not sure yet.”
Julian placed his drink down, fingers ghosting up Barry’s side. “Then we’ll catch you if you float.”
Len stood. “Or anchor you down.”
Barry exhaled. “You two’re gonna break me.”
Julian smirked. “Darling, that’s the goal.”
The kiss came from Julian first—steady, measured, a scientist’s touch mapping every freckle like a hypothesis. Then Leonard’s—cold and firm, biting Barry’s lip like he had a vendetta against silence.
Hands tangled. Breathing changed.
Barry's voice was low, breathless. “You know, in some realities, we don’t end up together.”
Len’s hands were on Barry’s waist. “Good thing we’re not in some reality.”
Julian’s hand slid under Barry’s shirt. “In this one, you’re ours.”
Barry melted between them—his body lightning, his heart a metronome synced to their touch. His legs felt unsteady, but he didn’t need to stand. Not when Leonard picked him up like it was nothing and carried him toward the couch, Julian following behind with the slow, deliberate precision of a man about to dissect his favorite subject.
---
Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows like it knew what went down the night before and had zero shame about it. The penthouse kitchen smelled like coffee, toast, and something illegally expensive Julian had whipped up while shirtless and humming a jazz tune.
Len was in boxers and a silk robe, flipping through the morning headlines on his phone like a Bond villain with a mild caffeine dependency. His hair was still messy, and there were visible bite marks on his collarbone. He looked deeply unbothered. Possibly smug. Definitely smug.
Barry?
Barry walked into the room wearing nothing but a navy blue silk robe that had clearly been stolen from either Len or Julian (probably Julian—the sleeves were too long). His hair was a mess, lips a little swollen, and he looked like he’d slept three hours, ran a marathon, and still woke up looking like chaos and desire had a baby named Barry Allen.
“Someone bruised my hip,” he said with a grin, grabbing a mug. “I’m not mad. Just impressed.”
“That’d be Julian,” Len said, not looking up from his phone. “Textbook technique. Left a nice L-shape.”
Julian arched a brow from the stove. “You’re welcome.”
Barry, sipping coffee, blinked once. “Hey, guys. What if I went to work like this?”
Julian deadpan: “I think HR would faint. Again.”
“Cisco would bet money on how long it takes for you to trip on your own sass,” Len added.
Barry beamed. “Maybe I should go. I deserve a runway.”
“You deserve a day off,” Julian said, walking over and placing a kiss on Barry’s temple. “Also hydration. You tried to vibrate through the floor last night.”
Barry gave a sheepish giggle. “I got excited. The love was overwhelming.”
Len smirked. “So was the damage to the carpet.”
Barry hopped onto the counter, legs dangling, sipping his coffee like a prince of disaster. “Okay but hear me out—what if we had a date night with matching robes?”
Julian nodded. “Only if I pick them.”
Len: “Only if mine’s bulletproof.”
Barry: “Only if we wear them and nothing else.”
Cue the spit-take from Julian and Len choking on his tea.
---
Cut to: Cisco texting the group chat.
> Barry hasn’t shown up to work yet. Odds on “he’s trapped in a throuple cuddle pile” starting at 3 to 1. Anyone wanna bet?
---
The door to the main STAR Labs lounge slid open with a cheerful whoosh. The room was already packed with people doing ten things at once: laughing, flirting, parenting, and probably violating at least six health and safety codes.
And then Barry walked in.
Wearing sunglasses indoors, that silk robe (again), a graphic tee that read “Speedster, Disaster, Lover”, and a croissant in his mouth. He was holding a pastry bag like a prize and walked like he hadn’t just lived through emotionally devastating multi-realm battles and also made out with his boyfriends on top of a piano last night. Confidence? Radiating. Sanity? Questionable.
“Hey guys,” he said, mouth full. “I brought carbs.”
Lisa looked up from comparing two pairs of YSL heels with Iris and immediately pointed at him. “Okay but why are you dressed like a European poet who lives in a gay Airbnb?”
Barry took a bow. “Because I am, Lisa. I am.”
Iris snorted, holding up a stiletto. “This one says ‘powerful journalist.’ That one says ‘stabby, but make it sexy.’”
“Choose violence,” Lisa whispered. “Always.”
Meanwhile, Caitlin held a yawning Rowan with one hand and a baby bottle in the other while Ronnie kissed her temple like they were in a Hallmark movie set in a science lab.
Across the room, Mick, HR, Wally, and Jesse were attempting to turn a discarded lab table into a catapult. It was going poorly.
“Physics is guidelines,” HR said cheerfully right before something exploded in their general vicinity. Smoke. Laughter. Chaos. Standard.
Joe and Eddie stood by the coffee machine with matching proud dad expressions.
“This is... weirdly wholesome,” Eddie said.
Joe nodded. “It’s like Thanksgiving if everyone was on sugar and had powers.”
Julian walked past, not even blinking as someone screamed in the distance. “Where’s Barry?”
“Right here, hot stuff,” Barry said, materializing next to him and planting a quick kiss to his cheek. “Miss me?”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “You left five minutes ago.”
“I almost tripped over Mick's foot. That’s practically a lifetime.”
Dante snored gently, curled in Cisco’s arms like a sleepy cat with a death grip. Cisco, still mid-bite of a donut, gave Barry a salute with a “Sup, drama queen.”
Barry grinned wide and flopped onto the couch beside them, feet up on the table, croissant crumbs scattering everywhere like confetti. “So... when are we going to address the fact Oliver Queen is dead asleep on our medbay table?”
Everyone turned to see Oliver laid out like a Greek tragedy.
Lisa: “...Should we poke him?”
Mick: “Give me five minutes and a Nerf gun.”
Barry leaned back with a sigh, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “Man, I love this family.”
---
Chapter 40: "All's well that ends well"
Chapter Text
April 7, 2017It was peaceful for once. That rare STAR Labs silence—the one that didn’t mean impending doom or a time-warping threat. Just soft hums of machines and gentle laughter tucked into corners.
Barry was asleep, again.
Not in a coma this time. Not knocked out from cosmic brain-frying or interdimensional glitter-fighting.
Just... asleep.
Curled like a cat in the arms of Original Flavor Wells, who for once wasn’t standing like a judge in a courtroom but sitting, legs stretched, arms cradling Barry like he was something fragile and irreplaceable. His glasses were slightly askew, his tie undone, and there was a rare peace in his usually furrowed brow.
Tess Morgan Wells sat beside him, her head on his shoulder. “He’s breathing better now,” she whispered.
“He drooled on me,” Wells muttered back.
“Means he trusts you.” She smiled. “Also, I’m not sorry.”
Across the room, Dante was snapping pictures of the moment like a proud cousin at a family picnic. Cisco peeked over his shoulder and whispered, “We have got to make a scrapbook. I’m calling it: Too Many Parents, Not Enough Chill.”
Julian and Len were off to the side, standing shoulder to shoulder with matching soft smiles as they watched their literal husband nap in the arms of a man who once terrified every scientist on the West Coast.
“He collects parental figures like strays,” Julian mused.
“He is the stray,” Len replied. “Just a really fast, lovable one.”
Henry and Nora Allen had pulled chairs close—Nora was knitting, somehow. Henry had a coffee cup and the kind of tired grin that only came from decades of love and worry. He whispered, “This is the part of his life I never thought I’d see.”
“Quiet?” Joe asked as he joined them.
“Loved,” Henry answered.
Joe smiled, warm and proud. “He always was. Just didn’t know how to let it in.”
The Speed Force, currently in her more corporeal form, tall and graceful as ever, hovered by the doorway like a guardian angel in high heels. Her eyes, impossibly ancient and gentle, never left Barry. “He’s safe. For now. That’s all I need.”
John Constantine leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a cigarette unlit in his mouth. “Bloody kid nearly gets himself killed every week, but what can you do? He’s got a heart too big for his body.”
“Not a bad one to have in the family,” Joe said.
John smirked. “Don’t tell him, but I like the runt.”
Back on the couch, Barry stirred in Wells’ arms, mumbling something about chocolate milk and “telling Cicada to eat a shoe.” Wells instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around him.
Cisco held up his phone again. “Okay but, like... if he collects one more mom or dad, we’re gonna need a spreadsheet.”
Barry didn’t wake up fully, but he smiled in his sleep. Loved, surrounded, and safe. For once.
And no one would dare take that from him.
April 7, 2017 — 10:17 a.m., STAR Labs Cortex
---
Barry blinked awake slowly, lashes fluttering like the world's most dramatic anime protagonist. Warmth. That was the first thing he noticed. He was warm and... cocooned?
Why the hell did his pillow smell like expensive cologne, a lab, and quiet judgment?
He tilted his head up slightly and saw Harrison Wells (Original Flavour), eyes narrowed in soft annoyance, still cradling him like a grown-up Build-A-Bear.
“Morning, Mr. Allen,” Wells said dryly. “You snore like a middle-aged librarian.”
Barry blinked up at him. “I—wh—what happened?”
“You passed out from cosmic exhaustion. Again,” Cisco said from the corner, holding a cup of coffee and a plate of donuts. “And then we started placing bets on how many parental figures were gonna show up before you woke up. We’re at seven.”
“Seven?” Barry groaned.
“EIGHT if you count the Speed Force,” Dante added, walking past with his tablet. “And I do.”
Barry blinked again. Around him stood his mom and dad, Joe smiling proudly, Tess Morgan sitting beside her husband with a patient gaze, Constantine casually lighting his unlit cigarette (again), and the literal Speed Force leaning against the doorway like a model out of a celestial catalog.
“Oh my God. I have so many parents.”
John quipped, “And not one of us got you a juice box.”
Nora Allen leaned over and tucked a curl behind Barry’s ear. “You’ve always been worth fussing over.”
Barry flushed, sitting up slightly in Wells’ arms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
“You exist,” said Tess gently. “That’s scene enough.”
Julian stepped forward, coffee in hand, perfectly pressed, clearly having not slept, and somehow still gorgeous. “You scared the living daylights out of everyone, you know.”
Len followed behind him, hoodie halfway unzipped, texting as he walked.
Barry blinked again. “Texting this early?”
“Text from Lisa,” Len muttered. “She’s calling another family dinner. Says, and I quote—‘Since my brother's wife keeps collapsing from saving the world, we’re feeding him and emotionally stabilizing him with carbs.’”
Barry looked around, the room still gently buzzing with love and chaos, everyone slowly returning to their conversations and coffee cups, jokes and schedules.
And then he sighed, tucked his face into Wells’ shoulder again, and mumbled, “Okay but ten more minutes. My brain still feels like it’s in soft reboot mode.”
“Ten minutes,” Wells agreed. “Then we’re charging you rent.”
---
4:32 p.m., The Allen Household (which is basically a boutique hotel at this point)
---
There was something sacred—dangerous even—about letting twenty-three chaotic adults prepare for a dinner at the same time. Especially when the Allens were hosting. Especially when Lisa Snart had decided the theme was “elevated casual” and Nora Allen had upgraded that to “glamorous elegance but with backyard lighting and an emotional support lasagna.”
In the span of an hour:
Barry had changed outfits four times. He finally settled on a blood-red, open-collared silk shirt tucked into deep black slacks with velvet trim. Cisco told him he looked like a cursed fashion god. Len almost choked on his toothpaste. Julian straight-up left the room.
Julian re-entered the room exactly five minutes later wearing a navy-blue vest over a black dress shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. Len muttered something in Russian about suffering. Barry didn't ask.
Lisa showed up at STAR Labs in six-inch heels and a cocktail dress that made even Caitlin do a double-take. “It’s not a war,” Caitlin mumbled. “It’s a dinner.” Lisa just smirked. “Same difference.”
Wally and Jesse appeared wearing matching faux fur-lined jackets and sunglasses indoors. When questioned, Wally simply said, “We’re icons now. Barry started it.”
Ronnie and Caitlin were trying to dress a four-month-old Rowan, who had firmly decided that no, he would not be wearing the baby tuxedo. Eventually they compromised: black overalls, tiny red bowtie, and very fancy socks. He looked like a baby bond villain.
Mick brought two bottles of expensive wine and one suspiciously large Tupperware labeled “MY MEATBALLS—TOUCH AND DIE.”
Constantine showed up late, still smelling like a spell, wearing a very vintage black suit and no tie. The Speed Force—today in the form of a very tall, very suave woman in a flowing emerald dress—walked in beside him. Barry nearly walked into a wall.
Cisco and Dante were arguing over which playlist to use. Cisco had gone for “soft indie dinner vibes.” Dante picked Enya. They compromised by playing both in different rooms.
Nora Allen had made three casseroles, Henry had grilled something suspiciously expensive-smelling, and Joe had a literal checklist in his hands. “Someone needs to cut the pie. Where’s HR?”
HR was setting up a mini photo booth with props. “This is a vibe. You’re welcome.”
— 7:56 p.m., The Allen Estate, Central City
Theme: Emotionally soft destruction with a touch of wine and celestial healing
The dining room had no business looking that beautiful.
Candles flickered in warm hues across a long mahogany table framed with low florals and glassware that shimmered like it had memories. It was the kind of dinner that made you feel like something important was happening—even if the centerpiece was technically just Rowan in a high chair wearing a bowtie and throwing sliced strawberries.
Everyone had found their seats by the time the last bottle was uncorked, and when Lucifer Morningstar himself—yes, from Earth-666, yes, still recovering, yes, now with long divinely conditioned hair—sauntered in wearing a crimson velvet coat and a smirk, no one batted an eye. This was family now. Stranger things had happened. Hell, last week Len mistook a talking cat for a time anomaly.
Lucifer leaned in, kissed the Speed Force's hand (currently still in glamor-mode as a 6’5” radiant Nora-like goddess), and took the seat beside Constantine, who just muttered, “You missed the meatballs. Mick’s still bitter.”
---
The toasts began awkwardly—because how does one casually toast a table full of time-fractured legends, celestial beings, vigilantes, speedsters, snarky scientists, and one (1) soul-bonded baby?
Joe was first.
He stood up, wine glass in hand. “I’ve raised a lot of kids. Some of you biologically. Some of you because I just couldn’t stand watching you go through hell alone. Barry…” His voice caught. “Barry was always the loudest when he was quiet. And somehow, he came back louder. I’m proud of you. That’s it.”
Everyone clinked their glasses. Julian smiled softly. Len didn’t.
He stood next.
“I don’t like speeches,” Leonard said. “But I like Barry Allen. And I’ve tried not to.”
Pause. Everyone held their breath.
“But he kept showing up. Bleeding in corners. Carrying futures. Being impossibly…him. And somewhere between a gunfight and a breakdown, I fell for that stubborn bastard.”
Barry made a choking noise. Lisa cheered. Constantine muttered something about gay disasters.
Julian cleared his throat. “Not to be outdone—”
“Then don’t,” Len teased.
Julian rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to say I’ve never seen anyone rebuild so thoroughly. Barry, you were gone. And then you were back. And you didn’t ask for forgiveness, but you made us feel like we could give it anyway. I’m still mad. But I’m here. And I love you. You infuriating, glittering, fashion-dragging lunatic.”
Lucifer raised a wine glass. “To sparkling lunatics. Cheers.”
The dining room looked like a still from a gourmet magazine with just enough chaos to prove it was real. Fairy lights twinkled overhead like mini constellations, casting a soft amber glow on the feast below. Silverware clinked. Glasses chimed. People laughed so hard they snorted.
The food? Unreasonably fancy. A ten-course spread ranging from Nora’s homemade lasagna to Lucifer Morningstar’s cursed-but-gourmet angelic wine sauce pasta. Lucifer himself—long hair down, velvet suit slightly unbuttoned, aura healed but tired—sat beside Constantine, nursing a glass of something glowing faintly blue.
“Don’t ask what’s in it,” he said to no one in particular. “It cost the soul of a Duke of Hell and three favors from Death herself.”
No one asked.
Toasts
Cisco stood up, holding a glass of sangria with an orange slice that kept slipping out.
“To the team that’s survived murder, multiverses, and meta-mess—and still shows up with casseroles and attitude. I love all of you, even you, Wally, who gave Jesse a flamethrower.”
Julian raised a brow. “Wait, what?”
Jesse: “He said it was romantic!”
HR stood next, clutching a breadstick like it was a mic. “To Barry—our walking glitter explosion, brain-melted time traveler, chaos incarnate, and the reason I started carrying emergency glitter in my vest.” Everyone laughed. Barry ducked his head, face flushed.
Henry Allen lifted his glass with steady pride. “To second chances.”
Nora Allen raised hers. “To never being forgotten.”
Joe’s voice cracked. “To the kid who gave everything and somehow came back with more.”
Lucifer leaned in with a half-smile. “To the mortal who keeps pissing off cosmic concepts... and still makes it home for dinner.”
That one got a standing toast.
Later that night – Rooftop. 11:13 p.m.
The rooftop was quiet. Central City shimmered below in soft oranges and silvers, the hum of distant life a muffled lullaby.
Barry sat on the ledge, knees up, wind tugging at his curls. He wore a loose black shirt that shimmered faintly—one of Julian’s ridiculous finds. A gift, apparently. He ran his thumb over the fabric, thoughtful.
Len joined first. No words. Just silence, presence, and the cold beer he offered without looking.
Julian followed, wine glass in hand, blazer long gone, vest unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up like he belonged in a painting.
“Thought you’d be asleep,” Barry murmured.
“We never sleep when it’s your turn to spiral,” Julian quipped gently.
“I wasn’t spiraling.”
“You changed shirts four times, Barry.”
“I’m dramatic, sue me.”
Len snorted, then sighed. “You okay?”
Barry shrugged. “For now.”
A beat.
“Thank you,” he said. “Both of you. For... still being here.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Julian said. “You think we ever left?”
Another pause. The air between them buzzed like something electric and inevitable.
Then Len leaned in, voice low: “You gonna make us wait another four years or are you gonna do something stupid?”
Barry turned to Julian first. Kissed him like it was breath and apology and every word he never got to say. Then turned to Len.
“Still mad?” he asked.
Len grabbed him by the collar. “Only if you don’t kiss me too.”
Barry did. A little messy. A little teary. A little too fast.
Perfect.
The rooftop was quiet. Just the hum of the city, a breeze stirring the sky, and three souls who had lost each other more than once.
Barry stood between them—Leonard on one side, Julian on the other. The stars were faint, but they were there.
No more running. Not tonight.
Len nudged his shoulder, offering a flask. “Don’t say anything dramatic.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Let him have his moment, Snart.”
Barry smiled, slow and small, like he was still learning how. He leaned against the rooftop rail and let the silence breathe.
“I was gone for four years,” he said, voice low. “The world forgot me. I forgot how to exist in it. And yet… here I am.”
Julian took his hand. Leonard brushed his fingers through Barry’s hair.
“You’re not just here,” Julian said, “You’re you.”
Barry nodded, then tilted his head back toward the moon.
“My name is Barry Allen,” he whispered like it was a promise to himself. “I was the fastest man alive. And I still am… in a way. But now I run slower. I walk sometimes. I stop and listen. I bake with Cisco. I help Wally with algebra. I fall asleep on Julian’s couch. I kiss Leonard at traffic lights.”
He looked at them both.
“I came back. Not to be a hero. But to live. That’s the real win.”
Len pulled him close. “You’re home, dumbass.”
Julian kissed his cheek. “And you’re not running alone anymore.”
Barry smiled.
Then, softly, almost to himself:
“Some stories end with tragedy. Mine didn’t.
Some heroes vanish. I didn’t.
Some people never find love. I did. Twice.”
He glanced out over the city, lights flickering like fireflies.
“I’m Barry Allen. And for the first time in a long time…
I’m happy.”
---
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havana Barlowe (Guest) on Chapter 1 Fri 02 May 2025 08:30PM UTC
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Clamcanzz on Chapter 31 Fri 09 May 2025 09:50AM UTC
Last Edited Sat 10 May 2025 08:43AM UTC
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