Caitlin asks if it hurts.
Not as much as this, Barry thinks, as Joe, in tears, walks away.
Not as much as this, Barry thinks, as Iris, in tears, walks away.
Not as much as this, Barry thinks, as Cisco, silent, walks away.
Not as much as this, Barry thinks, fading, as Julian walks away.
It hurts so much he wants to throw up, he can't breathe, he can't think, has to actively strangle the panicking dying exhausted pleading hurting fleeing tormented animal within him, his arms trembling with the exertion, please, please pass out, please just die, just let it—let it go, let it go—you lost, you lost, you lost.
Caitlin leaves. Barry closes his eyes and lets the animal win.
He yells and they ignore him because they are good people and they know they cannot help him. He screams at the top of his lungs to dissipate the clawing aching swelling miserable pain in his chest his shoulder his collarbone oh God he felt it drag across bone and flesh and blood and he never wanted to feel it again never wanted to feel again he was going to throw up to die to do something other than exist. He rages and howls and roars as loud as his lungs will let him, as loud as the pain screaming in his side will permit, and take it out take it out take it out ple-e-e-e-e-ease.
He exhausts himself, and wakes up hurting, without a voice, without a friend, without even something to take his pain out on. He takes the same panicking yelling sinister immutable animal and he breaks its neck, one clean blow, and he pushes himself to his feet even though he's literally choking with it, the simplest action unbearably painful. God, he's never – even Zoom, there's – he couldn't feel it when Zoom snapped his back, it just, it was gone, everything below the waist was gone and he couldn't feel and he wishes Zoom would snap it again except this time aim higher and maybe just shut him down forever.
He limps towards the cortex instead. It's empty, and quiet, except it's not really empty, just ghosts occupying their stations. HR sips from a coffee that's been empty for five-hours. He doesn't say, "Hey, BA" or offer a conciliatory remark. He doesn't make eye contact with Barry, like he's half-afraid of him, and maybe he should be, because Barry is an animal underneath all of the flesh and blood and bone that breaks, an animal that is made of Speed, and that can become Speed, and that Wally—
Wally.
He sees Jesse sobbing into a sweater and knows it belongs to Wally and he limps over and he cannot make it all the way, not if he wants any more strength, and she never looks up, never sees him, like he is truly a ghost and they cannot hear or touch or see him and I am so so so so so so so so so sorry.
He watches Joe leaning catatonic over a computer console, Cisco at his side, and does not inquire about Iris' whereabouts. Thinking about her for more than six seconds hurts worse than the literal and actual fire burning deep in his shoulder his chest oh please dear God please I need put it out Speed please help me.
This is what Wally is suffering, he thinks, because it's not just physical torment, it's the mental break, it's the actualization of his greatest fears. Iris walking away, Joe's son taken away, Wally, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He limps to the suit and absolutely no one stops him. Caitlin is gone, too, he notices, and he thinks it's a tremendous oversight or a mercy kill. If you die from this, her absence almost says, it would be kinder.
He doesn't pull the suit on. It protects him from getting broken, but there is a tear in it, a massive hole where, were his heart on the opposite side of his chest, his life would have left him.
He crumples in front of it, and for the first time in an agonizing time, he weeps, openly, full-throated, anguished tears that wail in the room because I didn't save anyone.
They can't even tranquilize him to shut him up, just painfully aware of the pain he projects, and he wishes he could put it in a bottle and send that bottle to the bottom of the ocean, but like a bottle it bobs back to the surface, and he is too weak to hold it down. He notices after an indeterminate time that he cannot even stand, his few attempts futile, devastated by the force of his own grieving.
I am so fucking sorry, he keens, and no one hears him, or they pretend not to, or something middle place between where he is comatose and the world is still almost normal.
He gets himself back up and there is a presence there, and for a moment he turns and the tears in his eyes turn almost relieved because Dad, Dad, Daddy, but Henry is not there, and the cold aching feeling in his chest sinks its claws in deeper.
He takes off and no one goes after him.
The Speed Force feels ugly and impure and awful and heavy and full of him, overflowing of his pain and anguish, shouting it back at him like he is twisting the broken bones and setting fire to his skin, and he cannot yell so he runs instead, runs until he's so numb from it that it stops hurting, runs until runs until runs until…
A face looms out of the darkness, a hand on his good shoulder, and he is so sore that even that much hurts, and he curls inward, and Jay Garrick says, "C'mon," and Barry turns and presses his face against the gravel. "C'mon," Jay insists, and he gets his hands under Barry's arms and it hurts it hurts stop please, but Jay doesn't, just hauls him to his feet, and Barry shuts his eyes and wakes up in a home he does not recognize.
"Honey," Jay calls, and inquisitive steps pad down a staircase, and Barry cannot tense, has no control over his shaking limbs, but a handsome, aging woman arrives.
"Oh, sweetie," she croons, and Barry tries to walk away because I don't – I can't – this isn't –
Then she hugs him and it hurts it hurts why does everything hurt, his heart is breaking, Savitar was wrong, he did kill him, and Jay Garrick introduces, "Barry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Joan."
She doesn't look like Nora. He doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.
Better, he decides, as with unexpected strength she takes him from Jay's hold and helps him limp across the hardwood floor. Better, as he descends with stupefied cooperation onto a scarcely used mattress in a cool guest bedroom, the last child they've had in this home in a long, long time, if ever, he doesn't know, never asked. He can't find words, can't explain, can't stop shaking, can't stop the tears, wishes he could unplug his own heart if that would turn off the pain, and she sits beside him as he weeps into her pillows, rubbing his back.
Jay returns at some point and Barry isn't crying but it doesn't matter because his heart is still bleeding and then there's a hand on his shoulder and something indefinably warm sweeps over him, a soft beach wave that rolls down and presses the pain down to something approaching manageable. He exhales and Jay's Speed rises and falls with his chest, and he feels cool fingers retreat and know he's taken a lot out of Jay and he wants to apologize but the crushing fatigue beats him to it.
When he awakens, he doesn't know where he is, but there is something big and warm and breathing beside him, and he curls a hand in a furry coat and feels something in his chest loosen. The – Newfoundland? – whuffs in his face and he takes hold of its collar and sobs into its throat. The dog whines softly, sensing his distress, and Jay is back, but this time he just sits beside Barry and says, "Barry."
He has Dad's voice, Barry thinks deliriously, Dad, Dad, Dad, and then he says, "I need you to tell me what happened," and the house of almost believable cards collapses.
He doesn't look at Jay, tries to make it easier by talking into a fur-covered shoulder instead, and somehow what he says makes enough sense for Jay to sigh knowingly.
"The Speed Force is a terrifying thing," Jay begins, and Barry can barely focus on his words, but he tries to. "It's like … if Divine were a motion, instead of a noun. Something you did, but not something you could … touch, or see, or discern from other objects."
"You seem to know a lot about it," Barry croaks mindlessly.
"I've been around twice as long as you've been alive," Jay reminds. "I've learned a few of its tricks. And I know that… you can and will get your friend back. Because the Speed Force does not take what isn't is."
Barry rolls gingerly onto his back and oh, oh, oh. He grimaces and holds his breath, waiting for the throbbing to slow down, to stop tormenting him.
Once it's down to a level that doesn't actually crack his teeth, he manages, "How do I get him back?"
"Jump in," Jay says, "and swim. Try not to drown."
Barry presses his face against the mattress for a second, sick, actually sick, at the thought of trying to challenge the Speed Force to get back Wally.
"You will find him," Jay insists. He encourages Barry to sit up with a hand under his shoulders. "C'mon. I oughtta take you back; your family will be worried sick."
"Where are we?" Barry asks, unable to help himself, whining between his teeth when he sits up.
"Earth-34, I think you'd call it," Jay replies. "So, for you, quite a ways from home. But don't worry. We'll be back in a Flash."
He gets Barry to stand and puts an arm around his shoulders carefully. "You're a good kid. Don't let Savitar take that away from you. Hurt, but heal, too. Come back stronger."
Next thing Barry knows, he's standing in the grass just outside the city, watching it stir towards morning, and oh, oh, oh, he's sore, he's so sore and he deserves it, deserves to feel this way, but he also – he also deserves to feel strong, dammit. He deserves to be who he is, to be able to do what he does, to help people.
I am The Flash, he tells himself with every step towards Central City. I am The Flash.
And he will be absolutely damned if he lets Savitar take Wally away from him for good.