The Black Flash's Daughter

by trufflemores

4.23. "Hi. My name is Nora West-Allen. This is the Black Flash."

"Hi. My name is Nora West-Allen. This is the Black Flash."

Invitingly, the seven-year-old looks at the door and the Grim Reaper edges cautiously into the room. Wide eyes regard It, halting It in the frame. Shyly, the Black Flash sinks down to its haunches, a Kodiak lowering itself to a conversational height. It sweeps the room with golden eyes, taking in the twenty-one children seated behind desks. Then It lifts a single black-gloved hand and wags Its fingers in a simple, mute hello before leveling Its gaze at the blank blackboard.

A wondering gasp breaks the silence, followed by a disbelieving murmur from one of the back-row kids: "What is that?"

"This is the Black Flash," Nora repeats patiently. The Black Flash sets Its gaze on the teacher, frozen behind her desk, before It inches into the room. No one else moves. The anxiety can be read in the way It scrapes the floor gently with each step. Joining Nora at the front of the room, It maintains a perfect distance between them – beyond arm's reach, but near enough to present a unified front. "He's my dad."

No one challenges the incredible claim. Nora continues, unperturbed. "He used to be like any other dad, but then he had to go save the world, and he didn't come back as himself. He came back as the Black Flash. Now he's like a guardian angel."

The Black Flash lifts a hand to Its chest, settling over Its own heart, gazing steadily at Nora. She smiles at It, mirroring the gesture for a moment. They've had to develop a strange and wonderful vocabulary to communicate. Death is silent. "He's good," she goes on, reading the silence in the room as more curious than alarmed. "He looks after the whole city. He can't talk," she adds, a little sadly. "But we still sit on the swings together and I tell him stories and it's kinda like having a conversation."

Tentatively, a boy near the front raises his hand. Nora nods at him. "Why's he called the Black Flash?" the boy asks.

"Because he's got a black suit and he runs real fast," Nora replies.

For the first time, dubiousness can be read in the room, steady stares and muted murmurs. "Flash?" a girl in the middle repeats. "Like … The Flash?"

"Uh huh." Nora turns around and grabs a piece of chalk from the board before holding it out to the Black Flash. Taking care not to let their fingers brush, the Black Flash retrieves it, looks at the board, and disappears in a blur of white light. When the grand beast settles back on Its haunches, the board is covered in art, dominated by a sword-wielding knight fending off a fire-breathing dragon. Belated gasps of appreciation fill the room. A delighted laugh punctuates the space.

"Wow!"

"Do it again!"

Nora beams. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Why can't he talk?" a girl from the middle pipes in.

"Because," Nora answers, a trained non-response. The Black Flash's shoulders lower fractionally in relief. Its mere presence is alarming, but the intricacies of Its being are far more haunting. Iris has spoken to Nora with care about the issue, for the truth is sinister for even a precocious child. Because Death is the ultimate predator: silent.

Fortunately, no one presses the question further, instead trailing down alternative avenues: when did he become the Black Flash, how does he help the city, what even is the Black Flash?

Half-crouched, the Black Flash lets the conversation glide over Its shoulders, grinding the tiny remnant of chalk between Its fingers until it disappears.

Answering a question, Nora says, "He helped the police for a long time with Paw-Paw."

Purposefully distracted, presenting a non-threatening front, the Black Flash smooths down Its suit. The dusty white grains leave no mark.

Looking up at Its own handiwork, It allows Its gaze to linger on the board, aware of the many eyes upon It. It does not turn to them. Staring at the living has the disconcerting tendency to lull them into a trance-like state, a stupor of terror so deep it is unrecognizable. Any who try to capture Its eye for too long experience the paralytic effect felt by deer in headlights. Soon enough, the lights in their eyes simply go out.

It has become very careful in Its manners. Death does not let Its gaze linger on the living.

Eternally patient, It waits for the questions to cease. Once they have, a round of peremptory applause fills the room. Anxious to depart, the Black Flash rises to Its full height, grazing the ceiling and towering over the room. A petrified stillness descends over the space; apologetically, the Black Flash slinks out of the room at a crouch, nearly clipping the frame in Its haste. There is an apocalyptic silence in Its wake.

The monsters under your beds are real.

Once out of sight, the Black Flash vanishes, passing from one realm to the next seamlessly.

Nora will arrive in Its place mere moments later, eager to say goodbye, only to return in disappointment.

After class, Ms. Keller will ask her to refrain from inviting the Black Flash to future show-and-tells.

. o .

The Black Flash doesn't eat nor sleep nor experience any human urge, so It sits in the grass and waits patiently for the timeless procession of rainfall.

It cannot smell nor taste nor even feel things belonging to the realm of the living. In the land of the living, It keeps to Itself. Hands on Its knees, meditatively still, It waits for the familiar sound of grass shuffling beneath a pair of soft footsteps. Soft, but not silent.

Nora sits beside It and asks, "Is it gonna rain?"

As long as there is water to be found, and a sun to carry it skyward, the Black Flash cannot reply, nodding once instead.

"I like the rain," Nora says, drawing her knees up to her chest. "And the thunder."

Again, the Black Flash nods mutely. It does not look at her. Even Its own daughter is not immune to Its affect.

"You're not gonna leave us, are you?" Nora asks. The Black Flash can hear the fearful note in her voice. It dares to let Its head tilt towards her, actively listening without actually looking at her. "Right? You're not gonna leave us alone here?"

It's all going to disappear someday, little one. The Earth will turn to dust, and the Multiverse will follow, and all of Totality will consume this finite thing we call life. It's all going to disappear. Completely. Utterly. As if it never was.

Shaking Its head once, a brutal but necessary lie, the Black Flash can almost feel Nora relax. "Good," she says, believing It completely. It hurts in a distant way. Knowing that It will carry Its child in Its arms to that great beyond hurts in a distant way. Having a child is a bittersweet enterprise. "I'd have to come get you if you left, and I'm bad at hide-and-seek," she adds lightly.

It allows Its gaze to flit to hers for just a moment and sees only childish wonder reflected back at It before It averts Its eyes again. "You're good at hide-and-seek," she points out. "I tried to find you, but you were gone."

It nods once. It is neither apology nor promise; it is simply concession. "Mom says you're still out there somewhere. You're still alive." She says it with the calmness born of never knowing what it is like to truly fear Death. It is grateful for that much. It won't last forever. "One day, I'm gonna find you. And then we'll talk for ages and eat ice cream and I won't have to miss you anymore."

One day you will look at me and barely recognize me, the Black Flash does not reply. You will look at me with fear burning in your heart and anger in your eyes, for I will have carried those who could not walk anymore to the great beyond. I will have become the monster every child imagines lives under their bed. I will become a stranger to you.

It dreads that day. It plans to be gone long before it. Unfortunately, It knows that to accomplish the task, It will have to disappear before Nora hates It. While you still look at me with fondness and not fear.

Everything about the arrangement is cruel, and yet It cannot bring Itself to keep Its distance from Its child.

"You like ice cream, right?" Nora asks, oblivious to Its dim contemplations.

Death nods once. It can almost taste the real variety, and within the Speed Force It can taste it, the purest form of ice cream ever known. The idea of the thing.

"Good," Nora says, satisfied. She looks up at the first rumble of thunder and grins. "It's gonna rain," she forecasts confidently.

Settling Its hands on the grass on either side of Itself, leaning back in a mimicry of relaxation, the Black Flash nods once. Mirroring it, Nora lounges beside It, very small next to Its towering stature.

If she sees the grass wither beneath Its hands, she does not comment on it. A hopeful part of the Black Flash longs to shield her view from such things; an unoptimistic part know that she will find out in time. It all happens in time.

And the Black Flash has seen every moment.

Why linger? Why haunt them and yourself?

To that, It has no answer. It suspects that It could no sooner resist the draw of Its family than set Itself ablaze for eternity. There is something too painful about the prospect. Loneliness is a challenge for the monster that dwells in a realm unto Itself, universally feared.

It is the inverse of a God: people pray that It never comes.

It hears the backdoor open and a person pause in the threshold. It knows that Iris will warn Nora to come inside – for she has no fear of the lightning that accompanies the benevolent thunder, just as she does not know the mortal touch of the monster – but for a long moment Iris presides silently over the scene, watching them. It does not need to see her to feel the depth of her longing, the profound grief that will not leave her until It leaves her.

She will always love you, It tells Itself, and It doesn't know how It feels about it.

There is something devastating in the way she wants It there, in the way she and Nora call It by Its human pronouns. Like It will be human if they simply will It to be human.

I am the undoing. There is no retrieving my humanity.

Finally, Iris calls out casually, "Hey, stormwatchers."

Nora turns around and beams, lunging to her feet and running over to hug Iris. "Dad came!" she cries jubilantly. Death does not turn to watch them, but he can sense Nora pointing at It. "He came to show-and-tell! It was great. You should've seen him, Mom, everyone thought he was really, really cool. Even Ms. Keller!"

"Did she, now?" Iris responds, sweet, light. Conversational. No hint that what It has done is nearly a cardinal sin. Threatening the lives of children. What kind of monster are you?

It gently plucks a strand of grass. I'm not a monster.

When It releases the strand, the grass withers before it hits the ground.

"She said I can't bring him back," Nora admits, "but she thought he was really cool!"

"Hm." She releases Nora and strides over, thunder rumbling in the distance. "Hey, stormwatcher," she greets a second time, and It looks up at her, golden eyes alighting on hers, soft and human. It almost cannot look away. "You have a good time?" she asks, like nothing is wrong.

It averts Its gaze and nods once. She says, "It's gonna rain soon."

The Black Flash nods once.

"Do you want to come inside?" she invites.

It needs no permission to enter Its own home, or any home for that matter, but there is something important in the act. The day I am not welcome is the day I will not return, It vows. It feels grateful and sad that today is not that day.

Shaking Its head slowly, It lifts Its gaze skyward, still seated on the ground like a child, and inhales deeply. Titanically. It gives the impression of being able to breathe storms into being without effort, but It exhales gently, and all is calm. Another rumble of thunder echoes in the distance.

"You're gonna get wet," Nora warns, and It feels a smile twitch Its lip. She doesn't know that It is immune to the elements. No heat nor cold nor wind can deter It. It remains immovable in the face of any storm, as steady as a rock. It is a peaceful feeling, to know that It cannot die twice.

I don't want either of them to die even once.

Pushing the thought aside gently, It returns Its attention to the grass in front of It, now swaying in a breeze. The Earth is so alive; It wonders how life can transfuse a realm so thoroughly, and still be so fragile. Gone in an instant.

One touch – one careless moment – would be the end of Its beloved family members. One.

Thoughtfully, It brings Its hands back to Itself, sitting cross-legged with Its palms flat on Its knees. Nora tramples over to It, takes a seat nearby, and asks, "Are you gonna leave soon?"

Death nods.

She exhales. The Black Flash has the distinct impression that she wants to hug It, to even grasp Its hand for a moment, just to feel that comfort. "Don't be gone too long," she pleads. "Or I'll get big and you'll miss it."

It allows a silent huff of laughter to escape It. It aches to extend a hand to her, to hug her. It dares not move, for fear that she will take even the slightest reciprocity as permission to do the unthinkable.

Keep me at arm's length, always. Death is not your friend.

It's a mantra few people have trouble reciting, but the Black Flash still wants, irreconciliably, to be part of their life. It wants to be their friend.

It is all I can be.

Slowly but with perfect smoothness, Death rises. It stands nearly nine feet tall, fully erect, but It maintains a near constant slouch, bringing It to a soberer seven. Crouched, It can stand as diminutive as five feet; on tiptoe, Its long arms can easily grasp objects thirteen feet or higher. Its great proportions are a consequence of the sheer power contained inside It; any smaller and It might simply implode. It needs not great strength or stature to carry the living to the great beyond, but It finds the task far simply with such constraints removed.

It can cradle a polar bear with the same gentle reverence as a hummingbird, and all humans between with no effort whatsoever.

I must be strong. I cannot carry them if I am weak.

Upon Its shoulders It can carry unfathomable loads, and upon Its back the perpetual weight of the Multiverses presses. I have a great deal to do.

And so It does.

Gazing at Its family for a moment, It settles Its palm over Its heart, tapping It several times – I love you, I love you, I love you – before taking a deliberate step back. Involuntarily – almost desperately – Nora surges forward and nearly grasps Its hand.

It disappears without a trace instantaneously, and her small fingers close harmlessly around thin air.

. o .

Death does not return to the West-Allen family for the better part of twenty years.

It leaves them alone, hoping that Its absence will instill a sense of resignation, permitting peace. It is easy to wait – time does not pass where It resides, merely inhabiting the same space like alternative destinations, east and west, forward and backward. Where It wishes to go, It goes, without needing to travel at the regimented, forward-only pace of the living.

So It waits a mere day in Its own perception, and ten thousand years, to revisit Its family.

It cannot claim the gesture is anything but selfish – It wants more than anything to see them, to know them again – but It still experiences a surge of relief when It walks gently up the stairs to the door and hears movement within. They're home. Reaching the door, It hesitates before reaching out gingerly to tap it three times. More movement within, and then a young woman wearing a paint-smattered apron appears in the frame, her demeanor cheerfully exhausted as she leans against the frame and says, close-eyed, "They weren't kidding about that fast delivery—"

She blinks at It, halts, and then makes a startled sound and shouts, "Jev!"

Jeven, the Black Flash thinks, instantly familiar with the man behind the name as he tramples downstairs.

Instead of backpedaling in fear, Nora seems on the verge of tackling It in a hug, saying over, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God – I have to tell Mom, hang on –"

Unable to get her attention verbally, It reaches out instead for the frame of the door and drags a single clawed finger down it. The noise is horrendous, but it silences Nora, who looks at It with confusion and hope warring with new wariness. "You're – him, right?" she asks.

It nods once. I am who you think I am. Then It steps back. Anxiously, she steps forward, and It shakes Its head a little, almost frantically, and she freezes.

Jeven appears beside her and halts, gawking.

Thoughtfully, the Black Flash crouches, placing Itself slightly beneath the man's six-four. Still, It radiates power. Nora says breathlessly, "Come inside."

Death waits until Jev and Nora step back, and then It edges into the room, looking around in idle bemusement at the changes. It remembers this space – Joe's space – in warm oranges. The soft blues seem almost out of place, and yet they suit the paint-smudged Nora perfectly. Jeven leans against the wall and collapses to the floor, stammering, "Nora, I d-don't think we should have it in the house."

"It's fine," Nora says, soundly exasperated, but more delighted than concerned as she says, "I can't believe you – I thought you weren't –" As though afraid to make the fear real by saying it aloud, she concludes, "I'm so glad you're back."

It takes a seat on the floor on the wall perpendicular to Jeven's. It says nothing, but It looks up at her with golden eyes, soft eyes, remembering eyes, and aches powerfully to be alive.

Daughter.

A day, a month, ten thousand years – time is stationary, and yet the Black Flash feels the distance between them and knows how great it is. It longs to close the gap. It would be so easy.

And Nora would not run away – she would not know to run away.

"What – is that?" Jeven croaks, ashen-faced.

"This is the Black Flash," Nora recites, and it's like standing in the classroom again, the same wide-eyed wonder mixed with fear. "He's my dad."

"This – this is your dad?" Jeven repeats.

"Yes," Nora says, taking a seat directly across from It. "This is my dad."

The Black Flash looks at her, drinking in the sight – she's an adult, and It experiences a brief moment of sadness that It missed her interceding years, knowing that It can visit them when It pleases – and knowing that It cannot hold onto it. You have to leave. You have to let them live.

"I can't believe you're here," she says, breathless. "I – I waited so long. I kept seeing you – but you were always gone when I got closer. You're really good at hide-and-seek," she adds, and it brings a little smile to Death's lips, the first in a long time. "Or maybe tag. Oh!" Lunging to her feet, far too fast for any human, she instructs with forceful verve, "Watch this."

Then she vanishes in a flash of purple light, and in the Speed Force the Black Flash sees her moving in the effortless manner afforded only to speedsters, and feels Its throat tighten with joy.

I'm watching, It tells her lightly.

She halts, and stares. The world around them is still frozen, made known by Jeven's unchanging expression and the perfect silence. She doesn't breathe – she doesn't need to, here, but the action still seems deliberately conscious – and as she stares at It, It senses the importance of Its next words, akin to landing on the moon.

Hello, Nora.

She lifts a hand to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes, and sobs.

It's okay, It tells her, rising to Its feet, stepping closer. Closing the distance. It's okay. Everything is forgiven here.

Reaching out, It holds out a hand to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it, and It draws her in for a perfect hug. Tucking Its chin over her shoulder, It narrates softly, silently over her sobs, I never wanted to bring this pain upon you, but I wanted to know you. And it brought me the greatest joy to know that you wanted to know me. Squeezing her, utterly careful, It finishes, I could not be more proud of you. I love you.

She squeezes It tightly, fiercely, and cannot speak for a long time, overcome. At last, she manages a warbled, "Oh my God," and then, with a laugh, "you're real." She hugs It with rib-cracking intensity, and It feels no pain whatsoever. "I always – I knew you were real but –" Burying her face in Its shoulder, she says, "You're real."

Yes, It confirms, rocking lightly on Its feet. I've always been real.

"I wish –" Her breath hitches, and it takes her a moment to recapture her thoughts, to wrestle them into words. "I wish I could bring you home. Like this. Alive." She says it so fiercely that Death aches for it, wants it more than it has ever wanted anything in this realm so full of everything besides. "I want to bring you home, Dad."

I know. It releases her, just a little, enough that she steps back in Its arms, and they look into each other's eyes. Fearless. There is no end for speedsters in the Speed Force; it is a place beyond living, a place where the living and the dead can reside fearlessly. I want that, too. But this is what I have to be. It's who I am. It runs a hand down Its chest, settling over that insignia, almost invisible in Its suit. It burns with white light, and she gazes at it, wondering like a child. The Speed Force needs me. I need it.

"The Speed Force is strong," she says, fervent, hopeful. "It can get by without you. It can."

It can, Death agrees. But it does not want to. It wants to live. And this is the only way it knows how. This is what the living Speed Force looks like. Extending Its arms to their full, spectacular breadth, It finishes, The Speed Force belongs to another realm of existence, this realm of existence. Interacting with ours means certain, insurmountable restrictions. The only punishment for breaking these rules is the cessation of all life. We are the inverse of all living beings. We are beyond the grave. I am the closest thing that can come to true life. This is the last life I may live.

It lets Its arms slowly settle at Its sides. Nora stares at It, thoughtful, reeling. At last, she says, "You really can't come back, can you?"

Shaking Its head, the Black Flash answers simply, indomitably, No.

She draws in a shallow breath, then exhales. Another shallow breath. The hint of gold tinges it on the exhale, lightning in her veins. "What if I go back?" she asks with unexpected conviction.

The Black Flash looks at her, eyes narrowing a little. I would not advise that, It tells her, and from the outside looking in, a shadow seems to pass over It, erasing the tender humanity. I have seen every future, every past, every timeline. I know what is coming. And I know that I will not stop you. Its eyes dim to nearly black as It finishes gravely, But I must warn you. There are futures far worse than this one.

Nora shivers, folding her arms across her chest for warmth, and Death softens. I want to know you, It permits. I do. But I don't want you or your world to come to harm, and I know how fragile the Multiverses are.

"Multiverse?" she prompts, wondering. Then, even more bewildered: "Multiverses?"

With a rueful smile, the Black Flash mimes zipping Its lips shut. It seems to have an almost literal effect until It speaks, a great time – and virtually no time – later. Yes.

"Wow," she exhales. She lifts a hand to her head. The Black Flash holds out a hand, and she takes It, squeezing It. Steadying her without making a single movement towards her, It feels her relax again. "Thanks," she says, squeezing Its hand.

It's a lot to take in. The Black Flash retrieves Its hand, and she releases It. But now that you know you can find me here, there is no need to disrupt the living – an airy gesture at the frozen room around them – to find me. This is how it must be. Existence falls apart when we mess with Its fundamental nature, and time is fundamental.

"You traveled in time," Nora points out. The Black Flash knows Iris told her, but It does not change Its position at all.

I made mistakes.

"I wouldn't be here if your life hadn't played out the way it did," she reminds It. "Those mistakes didn't stop that from happening. They enabled it. Maybe – maybe I'll enable a better future."

The Black Flash regards her, not dispassionately, but expressionlessly. At last, It says simply, It's your choice.

Nora blinks, surprised. "Really?" Then, gaining momentum, she adds excitedly, "It's my choice? I can go back?"

Slowly, the Black Flash nods. It hates to even give the appearance of approval, but – Yes.

She exhales. She nearly vibrates in place, despite already moving at spectacular speeds. "I can go back." Giddily, she says, "I can save you. I can stop that day from ever happening."

You can, the Black Flash agrees neutrally. But you can't stop what follows. The Multiverses will correct temporal anomalies in any way they see fit.

There's a sobering silence. "Someone else could die," she prompts, suddenly understanding.

The Black Flash nods, relieved at the gravity in her voice. Yes.

"I'd be responsible for changing the timeline," she goes on.

Yes.

"I'd be responsible for their death," she finishes. "If they died," she adds, eyes blazing with fervency as she finishes, "which they won't."

The Black Flash sees the resolution set into place – and in that moment, It knows her entire future. It knows where the story will go. And still It knows that one day the Earth will end, and the Multiverses will end, and Existence itself will crumple in the face of infinity, Totality. In silence, It realizes, I cannot stop what is about to come. I can only accept it.

To Nora, It replies, I will do everything I can to keep you safe, but I am only one being. The Speed Force is many. It may act beyond me. It may try to stop you, or destroy you if you succeed. Be on your guard. It takes her hand, clasping It between both of Its own, and says in an almost hypnotic tone, The Speed Force is not your friend. It is kind; it is cruel. Capricious. Emotionless. Be wary of placing too much trust in it. What it gives, it can take away. It will never choose you over itself. Remember that. And when it seems cruel, and capricious, and emotionless, know that it is the only being that has ever inhabited our Multiverses from outside them, and is therefore the most alien creature we may ever know.

The speech visibly sobers her; the Black Flash can see the hesitation, the sudden wariness in her stance. Still her tone is immovable as she replies, "I'm not afraid of the Speed Force." It is said almost like a challenge into the space around them.

You should be, It says, with no hint of exaggeration. Thunder rumbles in the distance. She turns instinctively towards it, and into the quiet the Black Flash says, I'll see you soon.

When she turns back, It will be gone. And the world blinks back into view, Jeven still seated against the wall, half-painted walls gleaming in the sunshine. Looking at her, Jev will ask, "What just happened?"

In reply, Nora will say, dry-mouthed and soft, "A near-death experience, I think."

. o .

The Black Flash's lifespan is a strange thing.

It is all Its incarnations, and none of them – It wanders the Multiverses freely, and remains forever in the Speed Force. Everything about It is vaguely paradoxical. Everything about Its demeanor breathes life into the paradox, granting an instinctive wariness to any who encounter It. Like a tear in the fabric of reality, It draws the gaze, and attracts horror when the depths of the emptiness beyond Existence are seen.

Totality is nothing like you know. The unknown frightens you.

I frighten you.

It wanders through time, and It encounters Itself in other forms, glimpses, really – of the many, many other beings the Speed Force comprises. Legions. An unfathomable army, comprised of doppelgangers and ghosts and living speedsters alike. Its own time wraiths, reanimated from the ashen bodies of the deceased who chose not to take up this mantle but to move on.

It would have been possible for Barry to move on, too, but when the Speed Force halted him at the proverbial pearly gates, he didn't say no. He merely took the suit and donned it, and has worn it ever since.

This is who I am, he thinks.

It thinks: for It is a timeless Speed Force creature communing with the humans who dare to allow It to exist with them, becoming together It, giving life to It.

I am not human.

It finds Itself at peace with the idea – indeed, at peace with the entirety of Death; and wonders if Its own closeness to Death in life isn't responsible for the ease with which It took up the Grim Reaper's scythe – but It still longs for human relationships. Such is the nature of the Speed Force: It never attempts to be human, but It aches profoundly to be alive, to experience life from the inside, instead of Its own glass bowl existence.

And so Death returns to the realm of the living, out of longing, out of curiosity, out of remembrance and duty, and finds Its daughter in it. Keeping Itself intangible and invisible, It watches her interact with Its living doppelganger and experiences no sadness. It expects to feel sad – jealous, even – but It finds only a sense of fairness in it.

Let her live. Consequences are part of the fun.

When the wedding falls apart, the Black Flash is there, calmly searching in the darkness until It finds the priest unmoving on the ground. Lifting him to his feet, the Black Flash threads an arm around his shoulders, radiating warmth, and says truthfully, I have good news, my friend. Today you will begin the fullest life you can imagine. This has been just a taste of the infinite. You've done well. Your friends and family will be here soon. Your suffering has reached a permanent end. Walk with me, and I'll show you where to go.

It takes all the time in the world on that walk, laughing and learning about the priest's life – godchildren and friends and a thousand acts of living besides, all fondly reminisced with the ease afforded to timelessness – before reaching the end of Its own road. I can go no further, It professes, the only lie It ever tells. But I know what lies beyond, and it is beautiful beyond imagining. Go. Be free.

When the priest is gone, It returns to the land of the living, and repeats the task ad infinitum, Its own taste of infinity.

There is something beautiful in the act, something sad and fulfilling, necessary and cruel, deep and simple.

It feels the weight of the Multiverses on Its hunched shoulders, but It is Speed Force, stronger than all the Multiverses put together. Carrying them, It proceeds, and when It returns at last to Its daughter, she looks at the space where It should be, gazing right at the creature she cannot see, and lifts a hand to her heart.

Obligingly, It appears, mirroring her, and a small, tired smile crosses her face. In a flash of movement, she joins It in Its own space, the Cortex around them forgotten. "Hide-and-seek," she muses.

The Black Flash bows a little, conceding. I was never very good at it, It confesses with human nonchalance. It can see how much she has aged in scarce months and steps forward, using the Speed Force to shield Its mortal touch as It extends a hand to her. She takes it and squeezes it hard. You've been very brave.

"I'm very tired," she confesses, leaning her forehead against Its shoulder.

Having escorted ten billion souls beyond, one would think the Black Flash would mirror her. It merely strokes a comforting hand down her back, assuring softly, Rest comes.

She stays in Its embrace for a long time, and It feels her shoulders shaking, rocking them gently, reassuringly. My wonderful daughter, It tells her. My perfect daughter.

She draws in a deep, shuddering breath, holding back tears, and admits in a warbly tone, "You're kind of a dork in real life, you know."

A rare grin graces the Black Flash's face. I cultivated that persona for years, It assures. Don't worry; you'll get there someday.

She mock-groans, and then she laughs, a sincere, earnest laugh that sounds three months overdue. "I love you," she tells It. "And I mean you. I love him – and I know you're the same, sort of – but – no matter what happens, that's not gonna change. You're my dad. You've always been my dad. And even if you scare the pants off my second-grade teachers and boyfriend, I still love you."

The Black Flash rests Its chin on her head. I love you, It replies easily. Always have. Always will.

They stand in the Speed Force for a long time, and the Black Flash waits until Nora withdraws, slowly, confidently. "Time to go save the world," she says ruefully, but there's an amused smile on her lips. "Wish me luck?"

In response, the Black Flash sets a hand on her shoulder and says seriously, More than luck. Whenever you need me, I'll be there. I promise.

She squeezes Its wrist. There are tears in her eyes when they let go, and the second she slows down, the Black Flash is gone.

"You okay?" Uncle Wally asks, leaning on the central console with a thoughtful frown on his face.

Nodding – unconvincingly, but persistently – Nora assures in a voice that only wavers a little, "I'm fine."

In the distance, she hears a low rumble of thunder. Wally glances around, surprised. "I didn't think it was gonna rain today," he admits.

A little smile curls Nora's lips. "Me neither."

. o .

There is a natural order to the world. A beginning, a middle, and an end. That is how time proceeds, when time is alive.

When time is dead, it goes nowhere. The beginning, middle, and end are simultaneous. That is how the Speed Force understands it.

The Black Flash exists in the intermedium, assigned to the land of the living but residing in the land of the dead, conversing between the two, scarcely inhabiting either space. It possesses Existence's least desirable job, and yet It feels honored and humbled to hold It.

When the living confer the dead upon It, It meets them. It says, I have good news, my friend. It takes them to the edge of the great beyond, a place beyond all conception of places. It has no idea what truly lies there, but It hopes that it is grand beyond imagining. It says farewell. It is the last living being that the dead ever meet.

I lead an extraordinary life, It muses.

The living never hear of the exploits beyond the grave – between the two spaces, comprising the Multiverses and reality as it is known and Totality – and so they never see how the Black Flash gently takes the hand of a child and escorts them to a new home. They see only the Grim Reaper in Its monstrous visage appearing suddenly in their midst, a horrifying reminder of their own imminent, inevitable demise.

Everything is imminent. In fact, everything is instantaneous.

It has all happened.

Time is strange, the Black Flash muses, sitting on a swing at an empty playground. It can almost hear a seven-year-old child running up to greet It, gleefully telling It about her day. How can a single day pass? It remembers wondering, struck by the inherent paradox. Time stands still, and yet time passes here.

Strange realms, indeed.

A rustling precedes her arrival. With stars in Its eyes, the Black Flash looks up and regards her as she walks towards him. Human, she cannot touch It; she cannot hear the words It cannot say, either. But when their gazes meet, It knows she hears It.

Taking a seat on the swing next to It, Iris says quietly, "Will it end well?"

The Black Flash rocks slowly in Its swing without moving Its feet off the ground. At last, It nods, once.

Iris exhales. She says, "Thank you."

It nods again, unspeaking, but not unfeeling. It turns Its head to regard her, and It feels a longing like heartbreak overtake It. It has to look away.

"I see him in you," she admits, drawing Its gaze back towards her. "It's hard to think you're real. That …" She trails off, but the message is clear: that he's dead. "You're the reason she's here?" Another nod. A long silence. "Thank you."

Puzzled, the Black Flash tilts Its head to one side, just a little. Just enough. "If we can change the future – if we can make a better future together – then it will be because of you."

The Black Flash stares, unblinking. "We're going to try," Iris says sincerely, firmly. "We're going to try to make it better. And if not…" She looks at It, a different emotion overtaking the conviction: grief. It longs to hold her. It doesn't dare. "Are you happy?" she asks.

There is only one answer It can give.

It nods, once.

Together, they sit on the swings, and it begins to gently rain.

By the time it abates, the Black Flash is gone.

. o .

The Black Flash keeps to Itself for a long time, an incalculable time, before returning to see what It knows It will find.

There is something peaceful in the knowing – in walking through a cemetery and finding an empty plot of land where a gravestone should be – in the warm summer sun and the awareness that It will never be harmed by any earthly force. To be invulnerable is serene. To walk on Earth is truly divine.

Invisible, It walks down the streets without perturbing the early morning traffic or oblivious passerby. It reaches Its daughter's home and knocks on her door. It takes only a few moments for the door to open. A tired face melts into a warm smile.

"Dad," Nora breathes, and she vibrates in place, throwing the entire world into that stillness and silence the Black Flash knows perfectly, before throwing her arms around It.

They hug on the porch for a long time, basking in each other's presence.

These are the moments worth being alive for, the Black Flash thinks, cradling Its daughter in Its arms.

. o .

Its doppelganger lives.

Its daughter lives.

Its beloved lives.

If asked, the Black Flash would have a simple answer to the question: Are you happy?

Unequivocally.

. o .

Returning to a familiar place where Its doppelganger no longer walks the Earth, the Black Flash stands in the threshold of a familiar doorway, looking at Its daughter, addressing a small crowd.

"Hi. My name is Nora West-Allen. And this is the Black Flash."

Carefully, the Black Flash edges into the room, and there are surprised murmurs and a few awed gasps as the creature ambles carefully, regally into their midst. The seasoned police officers respond with nearly the same degree of shock as the second-graders. It is not unexpected. The Black Flash allows a small smile as It joins Nora near the front of the room, keeping Its distance from the others.

"He's my dad," she says, and there are even more murmurs, now, more wonder than disbelief. Even the sight of Death is enough to persuade the staunchest doubter of extraordinary truths. "You knew him better as Barry Allen. And he's the one who saved Central City, repeatedly, during his time as The Flash. In the end, it required the ultimate sacrifice. As you can see."

Standing low, level with the officers, the Black Flash keeps Its gaze near the mural on the far wall, but It feels every eye upon It.

"We rarely acknowledge the sacrifices our heroes make," Nora says. "Time passes, memories fade. But it felt fitting, on this twenty-fifth anniversary, to finally show you the face of your hero."

Slowly, the Black Flash lowers Its gaze, meeting the eyes in the room.

Someone claps. Others join in, and within seconds the room is nearly thundering with the applause.

The Black Flash closes Its eyes, and for a moment It feels alive.

When It opens them, It sees Nora smiling at It, and lets the gratitude in the room sink in.

And when It disappears at last, the thunder carries on, and the memory lives.

. o .

And no matter where It goes in space and time, when It finds her, the Black Flash sees Its daughter with only stars in her eyes for It – fearless, forgiving, full of the affection only a child can bestow on a parent.