"Catch me if you can."
Last words. They're oddly fitting.
Barry throws the Reverse Flash up against a wall, feeling a savage vindication ripple through him. The Reverse Flash is strong and his suit feels like it's made of steel, but he's breakable, he's got to be, and Barry isn't going to give up. The Reverse Flash doesn't deserve to torture themany longer. He's already ruled fifteen years of Barry's life, ruined his life. He deserves to die. He deserves to die. He deserves to die.
It's a mantra he repeats to himself to keep him on his feet. Holding Eobard Thawne up like it costs him nothing, he feels like Zoom. He feels – breathless, powerful, intoxicated. It's easy to take out his rage that was locked in a box for almost a year, to ignite it.
It's time to put an end to this.
He doesn't know how to kill a person, but he can learn; he doesn't have the courage, but he can hold his ground; he doesn't have the heart, but he can try.
His fists falter-stutter-fold when he feels ribs crack. Some cowardly side of him rears instinctively away from it: he remembers in a flash Oliver's impassive look as heat surged through him.
You tortured that guy.
The revolution is coming, rationality is going to break free and he's going to stop, but rage is fast, always faster, run-Barry-run, and in the moment it's easy to sink his fists in. To think break-break-break, like the Reverse Flash is a nightmare, a monster, someone Barry can't kill no matter how hard he tries.
Every punch burns, lights him on fire, and he will burn to the ground before he admits defeat.
And he's going to take the Reverse Flash with him.
"Barry, stop!"
His fists ache. His teeth do, too, clenched hard enough he's surprised he doesn't crack a tooth. He's breakable, too, but he won't let the Reverse Flash have that satisfaction.
"Bar, you've got to stop!"
He's snarling openly because it's like asking him to kill her again, don't you get it, I let her die, I can't let this happen again, I can't let Eddie's death be for nothing I can't let him hurt people I can't-I-can't-I-can't—
"Bar!"
He hits the Reverse Flash so hard he breaks his hand, clocking him across the jaw and knocking him down. Out cold.
You couldn't do it.
He can almost see Dr. Wells' smile, the way he looks Barry in the eye before killing his mother because Barry is nothing, Barry can't stop him.
He can only watch.
Growling, he tells them to have a cell ready, shutting off the comm before anyone can respond.
His hands shake with the need to end it. He doesn't know how he would do it – except he does, his hand vibrating hard, hovering over Eobard Thawne. It would be over in seconds. Everything would be okay.
To hell with Harrison's prediction. His mom might be alive if he ends the Reverse Flash's life before he ends hers. The Reverse Flash was destined to die – Eddie erased himself from the timeline, Eddie died for you – and Barry had the opportunity to make it happen.
He could almost see a shadow of Eddie standing across the alley from him. Felt something – dissolve. Some hidden emotion quietly die, leaving only pain and horror and grief in its wake.
He looked Eddie in the eye, and felt every fiber of his being ache with apology.
I'm sorry.
With a groan torn between anguish and rage, he lifts the Reverse Flash over a shoulder. Carries him back to Star Labs. Puts him in a cell – throws him down, not gentle, taking care to smack his shoulder hard against the concrete, any vindication – and walks away.
Then he looks at his shaking hands.
He sucks in a deep breath, feeling tears on his face. Grief sweeps over him, outlined in sharp, painful red. In failure.
I wasn't strong enough.
I couldn't kill him.
None of them say anything. For once, they seem at a loss for words. Even Cisco – irrepressibly humorous, look-on-the-bright-side Cisco – has nothing to say.
It's like flat-lining. Looking at Harrison's blank expression only intensifies the feeling.
Barry feels sick, out of place.
Then Joe is there. Joe doesn't say anything, either. It's a kindness: there is no rebuke. No how could you. No why?
Instead, he puts an arm under Barry's shoulders. It's like a dream; none of it feels real. Not even the anger cooling under his skin. The metallic hues of the particle accelerator blend together in his mind, just like the voices murmuring in the background, fading with distance. He's aware that they're walking down the hallway. Barry's mouth is too dry for words, for apologies, for justifications, for Joe, I saw him, I saw Eddie, I—
They're back in the cortex. Barry doesn't twitch.
Joe says his name. Twice.
I couldn't kill him.
He digs his hands into his hair, prowling to a corner like a wolf, folding his arms across his chest. Staring at the hint of his reflection in the glass and wondering who the hell he even thinks he is, going up against people like the Reverse Flash, like Zoom.
He can't stop them.
He could never stop them.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he doesn't flinch when Joe says, "Bar. You did the right thing."
He grunts softly in acknowledgment. Can't turn to look at him. Doesn't have the dignity to even ask for forgiveness.
Doesn't deserve it.
(Eddie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.)
((Mom . . . . ))
He needs to stop crying, dammit.
"What you did took more strength than anyone has any right to ask of you."
"I'm not strong." His voice rasps, worn, sandpaper thin. "Joe. I'm not. And—" Turning to face him because to hell with humiliation, to hell with letting his life be ruled by a man who he despises, Barry finishes, "And I'm never going to be strong enough to beat him, or Zoom."
"It's not about strength," Joe says firmly.
Barry huffs softly. "'Not about strength.'" He reaches up, presses his hands to his eyes. "That's exactly how it felt when he broke my back."
"Bar." Joe steps closer. "You got your ass kicked. Everyone gets their ass kicked. But what you did today is what makes you a hero."
Footsteps approach, relieving Barry the duty of explaining to Joe why he should never have put on the suit in the first place. He's still wearing it, like a soldier struggling to find his identity outside of the warzone. Easier to just keep up appearances. Stick with it.
Hold his ground.
What do you do? What do you do when the man who ruined your life works alongside you? What do you do when the man who ruined your life is alive in a cell because you didn't have the courage to kill him? What do you do when the man who ruined your life was destroyed because a friend gave up everything because you weren't strong enough to defeat him yourself and you only got one shot and you fucked up?
What do you do when all of these people exist in the same person? Except none of them exist in the same person, yet inevitably he's going to lose to all of them.
Harrison steps into the room.
Barry stares at him. Can I trust you?
With that implacable stare, that immovable stance – it's hard not to impose the suit on him. Not to see burning red eyes.
You will never be truly happy, Barry Allen.
But he made a promise to himself. He let that go.
He said, "I forgive you."
He forgave Harrison Wells for Eobard Thawne's crimes.
But can you trust him?
Everyone gives off an aura – it's subtle enough Barry doesn't pick it up unless they're either a) a speedster or b) a close friend – but Harrison's is hard to read. Somewhere between cool and calculating and comradery.
He's never going to be a close friend. But he can be an ally, a partner, a teammate.
Barry can live with that.
And, exhaling slowly, he realizes he can live with Eobard Thawne in a cell. A place where he can't hurt anyone anymore.
Every action comes at a price. Dr. Wells taught him that. No matter how minute the crime, there is a punishment. The key is to minimize the damage. Some actions generate greater ripple effects than others; keeping a spiral contained is essential.
And Barry knows finality would not bring peace. It would not end there.
Killing the Reverse Flash wouldn't erase his crimes. Nothing could do that.
Time was only so mutable. And he'd made his choice that night.
Still – God, still – he can't stop himself from saying it. From asking to see Eobard Thawne.
They try to discourage him, but none of them can actually stop him.
Looking into the face of the man who ruined his life, Barry feels that rage resurface. That power. The heady notion that he could kill if there wasn't a wall between them.
It's tempting. It's very, very tempting.
But Barry sees their faces. Joe. Cisco. Caitlin. Iris.
And his hands are steady. His teeth are bared, his claws out, ready for a fight, but he's in control.
What the Reverse Flash did to his past was unforgivable. But he doesn't get to keep Barry's future, too.
This isn't a win, he thinks, but I can live with it.
At the end of the day: that's enough. Sometimes it's not about what you want. It's always about what you can stand.
What you can live with.