#21: Reflection

The Flash
#21: Legacy of Barry Allen Part 2
“Reflection”

If, just a day ago, you would have told Len Snart that he was going to become a Fed, he would have punched you in the jaw. If you would have said he’d do it as part of an elaborate, as-of-yet-unimagined escape plan, he’d have hit you harder. If you would have said he’d also do it to avenge a fallen brother—even a psychopathic, loudmouth jackass like Axel Walker—he’d have still knocked some sense into you, but then proceeded to buy you a drink, because at least you respected his code.

Ain’t nothing more important than the code. Nothing but Lisa. Len thought. Never kill a woman or child. No drugs or alcohol on the job. Respect the plan enough to scrap it when necessary. Rogues before brogues. And my personal favorite, revenge is a dish best served quick and simple, He screamed, losing his voice to the wind. This is neither.

Mardon’s hurricane had forced Len onto his belly. They’d lost Sam to it immediately, and Mick, without a decent grip, looked ready to go next. Len wouldn’t be so easy. He clawed the tiles of the roof bloody to keep from flying back like Dorothy’s house. Mick screamed something unintelligible, then raised his heat gun with great effort. Len tried to shake his head, tried to warn him off, but the idiot fired.

The very air seemed to explode. Mick plummeted to the side like a comet. Len’s skin burned, his bones quaked, and his body jerked to the side, but he managed to snag the edge of the roof to keep from falling.

The wind quieted. Mardon, proving himself as smart as he was sane, must have stopped to see if they were unconscious, beaten. It would cost him.

Len dropped to the ground, and pivoted around the corner. Flipping a switch on his gun, he released a cold field before him. Mardon, to his credit, reacted quickly, and flashed his wand in Len’s direction. A bolt of lightning erupted from the tip, but slowed to near-human speed when it reached the wave of antimotion energy, providing Len with plenty of time to dodge. Though the fence behind him caught fire, he refused to move.

Defiant, Len raised his cold gun, and unleashed hell on earth. Mardon did his best to roll out of the way, but the cascade of energy caught up to him. He toppled over, his legs frozen beneath him. However, with a wave of his weather wand, he launched himself into the air, soaring to the backyard.

Len cursed and made chase, hopping the fence. It was in that moment that his vision became a mass of red light. In the blink of an eye, the energy dissipated. There, in the backyard, he discovered an elderly man, and a gray-skinned freak who had both Sam and James by the throat. Goddamn, he has not aged well.

Movement drew his gaze. Mardon pointed his wand at the zombie, but, in another burst of crimson, was knocked to the ground. The Flash? It couldn’t be…

The old man saw him…

…and smiled.

Oh, no you don’t, you sonuvabitch. Len fired, and his aim was true. The wave of cold energy missed the old creep, and it didn’t hit the speed demon either; he was too fast. Sam, on the other hand? He flew like freaking Superman. The self-aggrandizing Mirror Master broke free of the speedster’s grip in a burst of frost, and tumbled to the ground.

With just a look, Sam understood the plan, and acted accordingly. He disappeared in a glorified camera flash, then reappeared beside Len. The speed demon went for them, but in the process let go of James. His mistake. A touch-then-flash later, and they were by James’ side. Then Mardon’s. Then Mick’s.

The old man screamed something. There was a storm of crimson light. A sound like a sonic boom. Then Len, Sam, Mick, Mardon, and James were all standing in a plane of existence beyond his understanding, a trip of imagery and light. Nonetheless, Len grinned.

Just like that, the Rogues had escaped. And damn, if it didn’t feel right…

At least until he saw the hole in Sam’s gut.

…

They were too late. Word of the Rogues’ shootout spread quickly, but the CCPD couldn’t get to the house in time to catch a single one of them. Iris’ dad kept her from the crime scene, despite all her pushing, despite what was on the line. Who was on the line. She had a feeling – an instinct – that the Rogues, the Flash, and Danny and Wally’s disappearances were all related. She just needed to prove it.

Then again, maybe she was just going crazy.

“Your husband is dead. I’m so, so sorry.”

“He’s not. He’s not dead,” Iris blurted. A couple officers she couldn’t name eyed her, probably for good reason. She didn’t know what she was saying. Or hearing. Or seeing.

“Yeah, Barry Allen ain’t dead. That’s what I said,” Max Mercury muttered. “Got garbage ears for a reporter.”

“You were…talking to me?” Iris mumbled, cupping her temple. She hadn’t heard the speedster speak, hadn’t seen him for that matter. The voices, the cops—the ones in her head—they were beginning to drown out everything else. “Sorry.”

“New leaf, new leaf,” Max whispered to himself. “Don’t…I should apologize. For being a jerk,” he sighed, “Okay, wanna—wanna talk about anything? You just—you seem shaken. I’m not great at this, so you gotta help me out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iris said.

“Listen, I need you relaxed. Barry needs you relaxed, if we’re gonna use you to save him.” Max scratched the back of his head, or, more accurately, the back of his metal mask. A silly tic given his attire. “I don’t mean use use, but…”

And that was the other thing. The superpowered STAR Labs geek claimed she could “anchor” Barry’s return, whatever that meant. This world was beyond her on a good day.

“Yeah, ‘use’ isn’t the best sales pitch,” Iris mumbled.

“Hey! Mercury, leave her alone. You want to work the case, stick with me,” Joe called, watching them from what remained of the front porch.

“Your dad won’t cut it. Iris, I need you,” Max urged. A sudden surge of emotion tempered his voice. Iris looked to his eyes—a reporter’s instincts to read a subject—though they were guarded by white lenses. “Barry needs you. I can’t explain everything. I don’t completely understand how it works myself. Neither does…doesn’t matter. Point is, time’s going bad, and we need Barry to set it right. He’s at the center of all this. Of the Speed Force.”

“You’re speaking English but I’m not following,” Iris said. “What the hell is a Speed Force? Or an anchor? How do you know Barry’s alive? Quit it with the half-baked explanations, and give it to me straight.”

“I can’t…it’s…” Suddenly, Max screamed. Loudly. A full blown roar. Yet again, the two nameless police officers looked their way with unhidden condescension. “I just know, okay? I know Barry’s alive, just like I know what we gotta do. You have to trust me. You—you wouldn’t get—”

“The voices in your head,” Iris interjected.

Max settled down. He examined her for a moment, then actually smiled. It was hardly a crease, and it seemed unnatural, but it was there nonetheless. Iris appreciated the touch of humanity.

“Voice, singular. But yeah, how’d you know?” he said.

“Ma’am, your husband was a hero. If there’s anything you ever need…”

Iris massaged her forehead, and tried not to lose control like he had. “Beginning to think we’re in Wonderland. Just…just talk to me. How do I anchor Barry? What does that even mean?”

Max seemed to energize, literally. His body sparked with blue bolts that by all standards should have been dangerous, but trickled from his skin harmlessly. He began to speak faster than she could follow, but caught himself.

“Sorry, still getting the hang of this. Living at human speed is…odd now,” he said. Was that melancholy in his voice? He shook the pathos away, and continued, “Anyway, short of it is that the Speed Force is the realm from which Barry and I get our superspeed, and then some. But when we tap it, we can lose ourselves—we can literally trip into the Speed Force, gone forever—which is why we need an anchor. A human connection, something to bring us back.”

“And I’m Barry’s,” Iris said.

It seemed absurd to her. She always suspected he had a crush on her, but this anchor business sounded next level. Like true love. Not the fairy tale crap, but what formed over years and years of knowing and caring about a person. She had to admit that she and Barry had something special. They’d been friends since they were kids. She’d always looked up to him. Even after all the time they had spent away from each other, when they stumbled across one another again it had been like no time had passed. But love, true love…

“Your husband is dead.”

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe she didn’t have a choice. Or maybe that’s all love really was—a choice.

“What do I have to do?” Iris asked.

“You…well, I’ll have to tie you to a Blackout Generator, the same thing that gave Barry his powers. I can build one in no time flat. We got the schematics and tools back at STAR Labs. Then I’ll activate it, so you touch the Speed Force, but just for a moment. Long enough so you can contact Barry. Long enough so he can understand what he has to do—think of you, hold onto you, and use you like a lightning rod,” Max explained.

“And that wouldn’t be dangerous?” In fact, it sounded insane. Perfect. Just what the doctor ordered.

“It…it is,” Max admitted, “But—”

“You realize I have a nephew to care for. To find,” Iris snapped. She didn’t mean to. She wasn’t normally so short-tempered, but she was just so exhausted. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know if I’m up for this. Yet.”

Max deflated. “I get it. Take a few hours. Think it over. Just remember…Barry would do this for you.”

Ouch. Guilt trip. But he was right. Barry would do it for her, or anybody for that matter. And some part of Iris—some part bigger than she’d ever realized—swelled at that thought. “Ma’am, your husband was a hero.” Her hero.

“I’ll leave you to…whatever. Just have one question,” Max said. He hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushed. Heat, or embarrassment?

“Do you know where Gehenna Hewitt is?”

…

Henry had trouble remembering faces. It was perhaps his worst trait as a police officer. They slipped away if he didn’t seem them often enough, or for long enough. After all these years, even Nora was a blur in his mind. It didn’t matter how many times he’d sobbed over their wedding photos. She was a foggy reflection. A half-person. Maybe it was a medical issue. Maybe something psychological. Either way, he was terrified it meant he’d forget Barry, too.

That was why Henry was shocked when he thought he recognized this kid. Couldn’t remember from where. Couldn’t remember a name. But that grin, those blue eyes. The kid’s spandex suit hid very little of his facial features. Just the color of his hair. He had to wonder…

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Henry grumbled. The kid had gotten past courthouse security and made his way back to his cell without getting caught. A miracle. And an act of insanity.

“No one will catch us. Guard’s passed out.” The kid’s eyed widened. He waved his hands defensively. “I didn’t do that. Uh, happy accident. Bad hours, I guess. I can relate.”

“So you just walked in,” Henry said.

“Sped in. Superspeed,” the kid bowed, “Wanted to chat.”

“Superspeed? You’re…” It all clicked into place. The suit. The speed. Those eyes. “Barry?”

The kid blushed, the red stark against his green tights. “I…I’ve always thought—and you know, I should look like him, but—you really think I look like Barry?”

Henry sighed. It wasn’t him. Barry was dead…but then who the hell was this kid? “You’re not my son.”

“No, I—I’m sorry. He’ll be back. I promise.” The kid extended his hand through the bars. Henry shook it. “You don’t know me, but I’m a big fan of your son. My name’s Thaddeus. And I—we don’t have forever, and there are some questions I need to ask you, Henry. First, your wife, Nora, is dead, right?”

Henry scowled, “Did you kill him? My son? Are you here to taunt me?”

“No—I—I’ll take that as a yes, then. Um. Listen, I’m trying to save Barry. Right now, he’s fine. He will be fine, swear to Superman, but—but—”

“Spit it out.”

Thaddeus slipped off his cowl, revealing a shock of black hair. After taking a deep breath, he continued, “Frag it. I’m from the future. Not a joke. Full timey-wimey crap. Do you believe me? If you don’t…maybe this is a waste of time. I don’t know what I’m doing. Kinda winging it. Could blow up the whole multiverse over this.”

Henry wanted to ignore him, to say he was nuts. But he couldn’t. Not after everything he’d seen. Not if there was still a chance Barry was alive. So instead, he nodded him on and muttered, “Keep talking.”

Thaddeus perked up at that, and grinned. God, he looked so much like Barry. “OK. So. Your son, Barry, the Flash, he’s going to die one day. And I’m here to prevent that. But I think time’s gone bad. Already. Probably not my fault. Thing is, time is weird. Super weird. You ever studied philosophy? Eternalism?”

Henry hid his ignorance poorly. The kid shrugged, and continued, “It’s cool stuff. Check it out. Anyway, eternalism is the idea that everything—past, present, and future—is real already, all at once, yadda yadda yadda. Everything that will happen, will happen. Free will gets tricky with it, obviously, but it’s just a theory, right? Different timelines exist, so the question is, when we time travel, do we hop timelines or do we bend time as it is? Some people think there are anchor points. Certain events that must happen. The Flash dying…that’s one of them. And me, I…I don’t want to believe the future is set. I can’t believe that. But…maybe it is, and always has been. I don’t know. I’m rambling.”

“You feel like your path’s already been paved for you,” Henry said, “Like there’s nothing you can do to change where you’re headed. I get that.”

Thaddeus nodded, suddenly solemn. “Yeah, bet you do. I…I came here to figure out if things have changed. Or if I’m changing them, or…”

“What happens to me?” Henry asked, intrigued—no, worried—at his change of attitude. “In the future?”

Thaddeus looked him in the eyes, and he knew the answer before the kid spoke. “You die in prison. Alone. Heart attack.”

Henry leaned back against the cell wall, and listened to his breathing. It didn’t hurt as much as he expected. It didn’t scare him. In fact, a part of him felt relieved. At least he knew what the finish line was. But Barry…his son needed him. He couldn’t give up, not yet.

“If we change that,” Henry began, “we can change the future? We can save Barry.”

Thaddeus’ eyes lit up. Those bright blue eyes. Like Barry’s. Like his own, though they carried in them a darkness. A sense of mischief. Something Barry had never had.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Thaddeus asked.

“Can you do it?” Henry pushed.

Thaddeus smirked, then nodded. “Let’s crash the mode.”

…

Max stood over Gehenna’s comatose form, bleeding azure Speed Force energy. Time had slowed for him. By his measure, he would have days before any nurse noticed him.

Looking down at Gehenna, Max felt like he was decades older. Wiser. More self-aware. His heart raced, not from adrenaline, not from the Speed Force, but from an urge he’d buried for too long.

“I taught you to embrace your emotions,” Savitar chided. A voice only he could hear. “Pursue your desires at any cost. Gods do not play by the rules of men.”

We’re not a god. And our power is the reason we must have more control than most, Max rebuked. But you’re right. We don’t have to play by the rules.

Max extended his hand and touched Gehenna’s forehead. Energy coursed from his fingers down her skeleton, lighting up her body. He slowed himself, and in an instant she jerked to life with a gasp. Max willed his power to weaken, willed himself to look like the man she knew, and smiled.

“You’re a romantic fool,” Savitar grumbled.

“Max? What…” Gehenna was breathing too quickly, out of control. She was about to go into shock.

Max cradled her, and stroked her hair. Nurses called from down the hall. They’d be here soon.

“You’re safe, Gen. You’re fine. I saved you. Healed you. My connection to the Speed Force, it’s different from Barry’s. We have different gifts,” Max explained. It’s what’s keeping my brother alive.

“You’re welcome.”

“It tingles. Like electricity. I don’t—I don’t—oh my God,” Gehenna nearly collapsed, but Max caught her. “What happened? Where are Barry and Chess?”

“One thing at a time, Gen,” Max said, “First, let’s get you home. Then we’ll…”

…

Sam was bleeding out. For all the times he’d backtalked Len, for all the times he’d schemed against him, he felt nothing but panic at the sight of his old friend dying. Sam had been Len’s first partner, before even Mick. They’d grown up together, robbed together; they butt heads like brothers. In the end, Len thought they would become just that. He thought Sam and Lisa would get married, and things would settle between them. But no, they’d only gotten worse.

“Take us back. Take us to a hospital,” Len urged.

He’d frozen Sam’s wound, but it wasn’t doing much. You could tell how bad Sam felt given he hadn’t made any attempt to fix his messied hair. Len was no doctor, but the color of his cheeks, the way his hands quivered, he had to be bleeding internally. That was bad news. Real bad news.

“Can’t do that, Snart,” Sam coughed up blood. “We have—we have to stop that guy. Eobard. For Lisa. ‘Cause what he’s got planned—”

“Just shut up. Shut up and takes us back. We’ll worry about superfreaks later,” Len said. “You ain’t the only one who needs help. Your boy Mardon, and Mick, too…”

Mardon’s legs were still frozen. Sam had talked him down real quick, so the schizo had taken to muttering obscenities to himself as his teeth chattered. Likewise, Mick was nursing his own wounds. He’d burned himself in their fight. Wasn’t anything major, but Len imagined it hurt like a bitch. Then there was James…

“Uh, boss, we got a problem.” James couldn’t keep his focus on any one thing, as usual. His eyes flit around, full blown ADHD. But he was right. They had a major problem.

This place, this dimension of mirrors and light, it was cracking and collapsing in on itself. If Len had to venture a guess, he’d say it was tied to Sam. That meant it wasn’t just his life on the line, but all of the theirs.

Sam tried to push Len away, but he held firm. “I have to…have to find the Flash. He can stop—”

“You’re gonna get us all killed, Sammy. Take us to a goddamned hospital. That’s an order,” Len growled.

Sam vomited up blood, but insisted on speaking through crimson teeth, “Tell Lisa I’m sorry. For being a jackass. For not saying goodbye. And tell her she was right…about me…”

“You’re gonna tell her yourself,” Len said, squeezing his hand. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Sam was crying. The bastard was crying. His tears slid down and washed his bloodied cheeks clean. Then he smirked. That stupid, shit-eating grin Len hated so much.

“You always were a dumbass, Snart.”

Suddenly, in a flash of light, their surroundings disappeared. Len found himself kneeling in an alleyway, alone. What the hell had happened? What—

Another flash, then Mick was there, too. Then James. Then Mardon. But Sam, he never returned.

As the others looked around with glassy eyes, Len screamed into the night.

…

Barry cradled Axel in his arms as the mirrors started to shatter around them. Had he done that? Had he broken this whole dimension with his powers? It was imploding, and if he didn’t think of a solution soon, they were all going to die.

As if drawn by divine intervention, light shone through one of the mirror gates, and out crawled Sam Scudder. Barry nearly rushed him, until he saw the ice on his abs, and the blood trickling from his mouth.

“Take my hand, all of you,” Scudder murmured.

Chester, ever the jester, began, “What, no ‘come with me— ’”

Barry had no time for jokes. He sped over, and dragged every single one of them to the Rogue.

“—if you want to live?’” Chess finished. He fell back, dizzy. “Whoa.”

Barry frowned, his attention focused completely on Scudder. “If you’re here to hurt us…”

“For a guy so fast, you’re damn slow on the uptake,” Scudder spat. Then, with a single touch, everything faded to white.

…

“…talk,” Max finished.

Then he heard the screams.

He was armored and out of Gen’s room in a split second. Racing past orderlies and patients alike, he followed the source of the sound. “First floor,” Savitar said. He knew that. Some part of him, as if through animal magnetism, was drawn to the hospital’s entrance. It was the same feeling he’d gotten every day in Oklahoma—the urge, the instinct to run home. As if drawn by a lightning rod, he sped, faster, faster, to the generator, to the power source, to the original…

To Barry Allen.

His friend, costumed as the Flash, was holding Axel Walker in his arms. The kid looked as bad as anyone Max had ever seen, a horror show of gruesome cuts and bruises. Behind them kneeled Sam Scudder, as much a zombie as Max’s brother. Then there was Chess, and with him a black guy Max didn’t recognize. A cop.

“Savitar.” Barry was on his feet in an instant, and stepped protectively in front of the other four men.

“Not exactly,” Max replied, hands up. He allowed his helmet to lower like liquid mercury.

Barry’s jaw dropped. Damn if he didn’t love an entrance.

The most terrified of civilians had already fled, but a few remained near the hospital’s entrance. Some were recording all of this on their phones. Others just watched in awe.

One said the obvious, “The Flash is back!”

The crowd erupted with applause. People started to step forward, to crowd Barry, who flustered against them. They shouted questions, asked him about his secret identity, about what had happened with the Rogues, about autographs and other superheroes, as if two men weren’t bleeding out in front of them.

“Please, I…these two need immediate medical attention. Can I get a doctor?” Barry said.

“I can get you something better,” Max said.

He opened his connection to the Speed Force. Time slowed down. Max sped around to the Rogues, and looked them over. Both were unconscious. Both had it bad. Scudder looked to be bleeding internally; who knew how twisted and torn up his insides were. To his frustration, Max realized he couldn’t help with that. With his powers, he could only speed up the body’s natural healing processes. But Walker, upon further inspection, seemed in better shape. His crushed arm looked to be the worst of his injuries. Max could remove that and heal the rest. Using his gift on Scudder, however, would be a risk…

“They’re criminals. Sinners. Let them die,” Savitar urged.

Max vibrated his hand right hand so it was as sharp as a knife. For a moment, he considered Savitar’s point. However, if he just let them die, or worse, killed them himself, Barry would never forgive him. Maybe he should just put them out of their misery, but with his friend here…

Max cut off Walker’s crushed arm. He was moving so quickly the kid had no time to respond before he sent a wave of Speed Force energy into his body. Walker vibrated, his skin sparking blue. Just like that, he was healed.

Now, Scudder…

Max couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk it. His powers would likely just rush Sam to an early grave. The Rogue had a better chance at survival with actual doctors.

Time returned to normal speed. Walker gasped, jerking to life. The whole crowd went silent.

Barry turned to him. “What did you do?”

Max grimaced, “I healed Walker. But Scudder, he’s beyond my paygrade.”

The Rogue had trapped Barry and left him to die. Yet for all that, genuine tears flooded his eyes at the news. Barry was a hero, no about it. As always, Max wanted to resent him for it, but couldn’t.

The Flash screamed, “I NEED A DOCTOR!!”

“You got one.”

The crowd parted before the source of the voice. A black woman rushed to the Rogues’ aid, not even bothering to say hello to either speedster. Her focus seemed locked on the injured, on those in need.

“Dr. Chapel…” Barry began, “Thank you.”

“Get out before you get mobbed,” Chapel said, already examining Scudder. “I can take it from here.”

Barry exchanged a look with Max, who nodded back at him. He then grabbed the cop, while Max took Chess. Before a spectator could so much as blink, they were both gone. However, while his friend sped out into the city, Max ran back upstairs.

He had one last person to rescue.

…

Iris shut the door to her apartment, and rested against it, exhausted. It had been a long day, the longest since Ira’s death. After it all, she couldn’t keep fighting, not right now, not for the moment. She gave in and listened to the voices, to the future she wanted to deny, but somehow knew was real. She prayed that she could do something to save Wally, to save Danny, to save Barry—till death do them part.

Yes, she knew she had to call Max. To try.

And then she heard the man’s voice.

“Can I make you a cup of tea? You look awfully tired.”

Iris turned around, already reaching into her purse for pepper spray. A man—somehow youthful, despite the white of his hair—sat on her couch, legs crossed, a toothless smile on his lips. He made no move to rise, to stop her as she advanced with the spray in hand.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The man cocked his head, and stated plainly, “I’m the villain, Ms. West.”

Her pepper spray was on the ground faster than she could blink. Someone had smacked it out of her hand. Not the white-haired man, but someone else: an enforcer, gray skinned and muscular. Crimson sparks bounced across his body, not unlike the Flash. A metahuman. Son of a…

Unfazed, the white-haired man continued, “I didn’t want to be the villain. Not for a long time. But fate had other plans for me. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I looked like, no matter whom I cared for, I was always the villain. I always will be the villain. Just as Barry Allen is the hero, and you, Ms. West…just as you are insignificant.”

She didn’t what to do, what to say. If she screamed, the meta would at the very least disable her. If she reached for her phone, the same. If she attacked the white-haired man…she’d likely get a worse outcome. Some part of her knew she was going to die, and some part welcomed it. Peace at last. No more responsibilities. But the vast majority of her? Scared shitless.

“Please, sit down. Let me make you that cup of tea,” the stranger insisted. He rose, and offered her his seat on the couch. She remained in place, determined to die on her own terms. To that, the man frowned. “Relax, Ms. West. I just want to talk. To…teach.”

“Eat shit,” she spat.

The man shrugged. “Have it your way.” He walked over to her kitchenette, and began to rummage through her drawers. “Listen. Do not speak. Treat this as you would a university lecture. If you so much as cough, I will have my man silence you.”

Iris wanted to offer a witty retort, but came up empty. All the better, she figured. She needed to remain fully capable and conscious. If he gave her enough time, she might be able to come up with a plan to escape.

“Thank you. I want you to understand, you see. To understand our shifting reality as I do.” The white-haired man settled on a mug, then a bag of green tea. He popped it in, then began to look through her drawers for a kettle. “No one understands time, not truly. But what we do know—what I know—is that some things are fixed. By God, by destiny, or by the laws of the universe, some things never change.”

Iris considered the items in her purse. Makeup, no help. Cellphone, only trouble. She had nothing of use, not against a metahuman.

The white-haired man produced a kettle, and filled it with water. He then lit the stove, red flames sparking to life. “I’ve killed you before.” Iris bit her tongue. She wouldn’t gasp, wouldn’t react to this man. “To break Barry. To end him. To prove that the future isn’t fixed. And yes, he snaps. He kills me, and no, I don’t like that, I don’t want to die, but if it would prove that there’s a chance, that everything can change, then…” With a flourish of his hand, he said, “Well, it doesn’t. He kills me, Barry does, but he always finds a way to move on. To move forward. To be a hero. Always. I’m always the villain. And you’re always insignificant.”

Iris wanted to punch him in his smug little face—because he was a prick, because she was scared, because she knew he was right. “Ma’am, your husband is a hero.”

He continued, “You’re no Lois Lane. You never win a Pulitzer. You never get superpowers; you never save the world. You’re a footnote in the story of the Flash, that’s all. Insignificant, even to the man who loves you so very much. Your life, your death, it changes nothing.”

“When I came here, I intended to kill you, because, if nothing else, it would hurt him. He’s back, you know. Barry is. So I would kill you as a ‘welcome home’ present. But no, as I sat there waiting for you, I realized something. It’s too simple, too mundane. Murdering the love interest? Overdone. This time, I want to do more than hurt Barry. I want to beat him. And killing you? We all know how that ends for me.”

The stranger turned off the burner, then poured the steaming water in the mug. He approached Iris slowly, like a predator, but did not offer the tea.

“I won’t leave you on the floor to bleed out alone, like I did Nora Allen.” This man was the murderer? This man had killed Barry’s mother?

“I won’t kidnap you; I won’t make you a damsel.” He was so close. She could grab him now, make a hostage of him before the meta could react. Maybe.

“I will make you an offer. Not to change anything, but to see your nephew, Wally. To save him.” Iris’s eyes widened. It was him. He’d kidnapped Wally.

“All you have to do is come with me.” The stranger extended the steaming mug of tea.

Iris knew it was a trap. She knew the man was lying, or worse, had a plan to manipulate her. She knew that trusting anything he said, anything he promised, was stupid, absurd, even insane.

But she took the tea anyway.

…

“Team Flash is back, baby!” Chester fist pumped.

It seemed like a miracle to Barry. Just minutes ago, he’d been convinced he’d failed his friends for the last time. But thanks to the last second intervention of a criminal—a Rogue no less—they were all back together, safe and sound. Max had returned with Gehenna, who, though shaken, embraced them all immediately. Daniel was still unconscious, but he was stable. Barry had left him to rest in Elias’ old office. And Max…Max was a freakin’ superhero!

Barry had no doubt the news channels were already raving about his return, or about the arrest of two of the Rogues. He had no idea if Scudder, or Axel for that matter, was still alive. Right now, Barry couldn’t focus on the bad news. He couldn’t think about the Rogues—captured or AWOL—at least for a few minutes. Right now, he was just enjoying friends’ company, relentless banter and all.

“It’s good to have you back,” Barry said, hugging Max. When he pulled back, he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

“Aw, really? Waterworks? I don’t deal with that crap well at all,” Max blushed, scratching the back of his head.

“Haven’t changed that much, huh?” Gen said, seated on a desk. “Your masculinity still leans toward toxic.”

“Hey. I meditate, for your information,” Max retorted, “I’m all about feelings now.”

“Ooh, we got a real monk on our hands. Watch out, y’all,” Chess interjected, laughing. “The Zen Master of Speed’s in the house.”

“Watch it, pal. Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” Max teased.

Chess put his hands in the air. “Dang, you gonna go full Savitar on me? Break out ye ol’ supervillain—”

“Barry!”

Everyone went quiet. Barry blinked twice. He couldn’t have heard that voice right. There was no way he was free. Yet when Barry turned, he came face-to-face with his father, who lumbered toward him, weeping tears of joy. Barry remained frozen, as if by Snart’s cold gun, unable to react even after his dad had embraced him.

“You’re alive. You’re really alive,” Henry sobbed.

Barry’s legs felt like jelly. He wobbled for a moment, before they both fell to the ground. There, he finally mustered the strength to hug his dad. Then came the tears.

“How…?” Barry couldn’t finish, couldn’t find the words.

“I’m to blame,” came a new voice.

Out of the shadows slunk a nervous, fidgety teenager in green spandex. The kid had a mess of black hair, and milk white skin. He wouldn’t meet Barry’s gaze, his cheeks as bright as firecrackers, and he, too, looked like he was about to cry.

“Or to thank,” the teen rambled. “You don’t have to, of course. I just, uh, I meant, y’know—”

“Who the hell are you?” Max demanded.

The teen waved his hands, embarrassed. “Thaddeus. Sorry. Name’s Thaddeus. Or do you want my superhero name? I have one, but, well, it’s sort of, maybe, jumping ahead a bit. Paradoxical? Not the right word. Um…”

There was something about his tics, about his ice blue eyes that seemed so familiar to Barry. Suddenly, it hit him. The kid, for all his quirks and odd clothing, looked like one of his cousins. His accent was touched with a Midwest country drawl. Even his name, Thaddeus, seemed straight out of their redneck family tree.

“He broke me out,” Henry explained. “It’s wonderful, Barry. He…he’s one of us…”

“He’s an Allen.”