Author's Notes: "Inerro" is Latin for "walk around, excurse, wander, ramble, carry about."
I do not own "Runnin' Home to You," but it is a beautiful song owned by The Flash execs.
Additionally, "Dar" is my nickname for Dawn Allen. (Headcanon: Dawn Rose = DAwn R.)
Enjoy!
Can't say how the days will unfold
Can't change what the future may hold
But I want you in it
Every hour, every minute
They're thirty-four and stupid-in-love.
Barry has Dar on his shoulders and Don at his side, holding Don's hand and keeping a firm hand on Dar's leg. He needn't worry; she has a good hold on his neck, strong for a four-year-old. Fatherhood helped him realize that he was given his own strength so he could carry his children. The lightning didn't give him something to keep; it gave him something to share. It shared it with his children, too, if the way Dar and Don have that glowing golden light in their eyes is any indication. Barry absolutely, unapologetically sobbed when he first saw it because it meant one thing: he gets to share this with them, he gets to share Speed Force with them.
Not yet. But someday. Barry has already sat Speed Force down for some serious talks in his time off, but he needn't have worried: the second he stepped into that other universe it was pure, ecstatic joy. Speed Force materialized as a lion and Barry had no time to brace himself as it tackled him, rubbing its mane against his chest. Our Family Is Bigger, it chuffs. Our Family.
He has to take the lion by the ears and gently shake its head, you have to be so so so gentle with them. He rests his forehead against it and knows it would never be anything else.
The real world is mundane, written in just two colors, Space and Time, but it is where everyone he has ever loved lives, and where he aches to be at the end of the day.
They're waiting for Mom at the airport, and it's still amusing to Barry that she has two names now. But he's called her dozens of names over the years. He's pretty sure the kiddos think "Mom's" real name is Honey.
Don tugs impatiently at his hand as people mill into the terminal, proceeding from the plane in a no-fuss-no-muss way that has him and his kiddos chomping at the bit. He knows he's putting off too much excited energy, riling the twins up, but he can't help it. She's here.
He senses it half a second before he sees her and it takes everything in him not to Flash forward and Don, with a delighted shout, takes off.
Kids are fast and small and ignorable, which is why no one looks twice as he runs maybe-a-little-too-fast towards her, lunging into her arms when she opens them. "Mom," Dar squeals, reaching for her, and Barry uses both hands to lift her off his shoulders and she takes off, too. She's even faster and there's a hint of lightning in her steps, but she tumbles with four-year-old unbalance into Iris' leg and no one says a thing. "Mom."
Barry can feel the lion at his side, barreling him over, not in remonstrance but sheer exultant joy, and they understand each other perfectly.
Stepping forward, he smiles when Don surrenders his hold because he wants Dad to pick him up, and Barry obliges, because he's a Dad now. He hugs Iris with his free arm and feels Dar hugging his leg below, and couldn't be happier.
He cries because it's what he does, and Iris hugs him back tightly.
. o .
This world can race by far too fast
Hard to see while it's all flying past
But it's clear now
When you're standing here now
I am meant to be wherever you are next to me
It's late at night when Iris realizes her bed is half empty.
The kids are asleep and Cisco is too, but on the phone Iris says Barry's gone and Cisco doesn't even point out that it's 1:38 AM. He just grunts and shows up to their house fourteen minutes later, salutes in his Star Wars pajamas, and passes out on their couch. Despite appearances, Iris knows the tiniest disturbance in the force can and will wake him up; he's proven countless times that he is a more than competent babysitter.
Satisfied, she leaves him with his marching orders and drives into the city. She parks across the street from her old haunt and it's late but she doesn't mind, doesn't mind the cold or loneliness, because she knows The Flash is near. She steps outside and aches for his lightning but does not complain as she climbs the fire escape.
On the roof, she exhales at the sight of him, tall and unbroken and Just Barry, melting into the shadows, disappearing, and baby I still have you for one day. Stepping forward, she feels the pain in his lightning, an emotion torn between denial and fear. He doesn't move when she approaches, doesn't flinch when she stops at his side. Without the suit, he is incredibly vulnerable, his soul spelled out in the lightning.
Glancing up at the stars, Iris leans her shoulder against his, letting him know that she's there without forcing anything. I'm here when you need me.
He shudders and holds his breath for a long moment, exhaling slowly. She wraps an arm around his waist and tries to convey confidence, and restfulness, and an overwhelming sense of it'll be okay.
Seven years ago, they fixed the future.
And tomorrow is April 25, 2024.
"I don't want to lose you," he says in a terrible voice, like his heart is being broken, a string on a line being snapped, and Iris presses her head against his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," he chokes, tears visible on his face. "I don't want to lose you."
She lets him go, steps in front of him, and takes his head in her hands, holding him there. There is something so much greater than him in those lost golden eyes. But he bows for her, letting her reshape his world, and she presses a kiss to his forehead.
He's the one dying, and it's not the end of his life that he fears.
It's the end of theirs.
He loops his arms around her waist and holds her, shifting so he can press his forehead to her shoulder, and she is not strong enough to hold them both up, but she does not falter under his weight and it never crushes her.
We're still standing, it says. She remembers what the last twenty-four hours were like. And she remembers how it took the better part of a month to really absorb that she wasn't still on that grid, that she was okay, that she was alive.
. o .
All I wanna do is come running to you
Come running home to you
On one side of history there is a Barry who doesn't chase Eobard, who lets him sink his claws into some child Barry's heart, and Nora and Henry find that child and it doesn't just hurt, it breaks them in half.
On the other side there is a Barry who could not resist, and who disappears in a blinding flash of white light.
Teeth aching, bleeding out, Barry surveys the wreckage around him. He thinks about all the people he could save here, the people he has an obligation to save here, the life he has here.
And he makes the single worst decision of his entire life: he runs, and he crashes into Eobard and sweeps his child self from the floor and leaves him in the street, and then he straggles on numb legs to the one sanctuary he knows.
A familiar black-cloaked specter greets him, and for a moment Barry lurches, but the Black Flash puts a hand on his shoulder and he concedes, falling to his knees.
I fought, he thinks, and Flash thinks, and together they are fading. I won.
Then a gentle pressure forces his eyes closed and he knows nothing more.
. o .
And all my life I promise to
Keep running home to you
In the morning, Dar asks, "Where's Daddy?"
Iris cuddles her to her chest and says, "Away," like he's coming home, like he's okay, like he's not dead. At nine Linda shows up and says, "I saw—" and Wally is standing over her shoulder, looking an anguished that doesn't have a name, and Iris' throat closes up.
She wrote the post because she had to.
FLASH MISSING.
VANISHES IN CRISIS.
She passes Dar and Don off to them and runs, driving as far as she can, as fast as she dares, until it's late and she's nearly out of gas, and then she steps outside and screams into the night.
Collapsing to her knees, she sobs, and sobs, and sobs, breaking down into the Earth, and she holds tufts of grass and feels a presence like a breeze over her shoulder, and does not stir at all as The Flash alone lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.
They stay there for an interminable time, locked in position. It gets cold and The Flash sits near her, back-to-back, and Iris focuses on breathing slowly, because she is so unceasingly grateful and devastated that the Ghost is here.
Where's your shadow? She thinks, laying a hand in the grass at her side, and his slides over it, squeezing gently, and she knows at once it isn't her Barry but an echo of him, some other version, every version, a Barry who never existed.
Neither The Flash nor Barry speak, intermingling, fading into each other, Barry with The Flash's muteness, The Flash with Barry's Everything, and Iris draws her knees up to her chest and presses her sobs into them.
Some Barry – the Not Barry, the Barry who couldn't have been – slides around and hugs her, tightly, and it is almost real.
. o .
Keep running home to you
A tortoise, tall and torpid, saunters across the grass.
Barry blinks at it, sideways, and sits up slowly, and looks around. He can't feel anything, not yet, but he isn't afraid. He knows where he is; has been here countless times before. The tortoise covers ground relentlessly and he rises, and follows it, and overtakes it, and turns in a slow circle, startled to find himself alone.
Then it wanders past his leg and continues onward, and he matches its pace carefully, side-by-side. Its pace gives him time, time to see the grass, time to watch the light-blue sky grade into midnight sapphire. When the stars emerge he watches them, too, forming nameless constellations, and still the tortoise saunters onward and he follows, keeping pace thoughtlessly, entranced.
He doesn't know how far they walk, how much time passes, only knows that he is immeasurably grateful when the tortoise pauses and sits down. Barry mimics it, closing his eyes in relief as the weight of the world is taken off his feet, and opens them to a fox at his side, curled up, asleep, tailed wrapped around its nose.
Message clear, he lies down and gazes up at the stars for a small infinity, and then he closes his eyes and trusts the Speed Force.
. o .
And I could see it
Right from the start
Right from the start
That you would be
Be my light in the dark
Light in the dark
It is like a feeling, deep in her soul. Come-find-me.
She asks Cisco to Vibe her into the Speed Force.
He swallows. Iris—
She knows. He's been gone three months. No one has ever survived that long in the Speed Force. No one. Not intact.
But he opens the breach anyway, and they step through it together, because they need to see the empty space to know it is empty.
Standing in the heart of the void, utterly empty, Iris calls, "Barry."
No response. Cisco's hand tightens on her shoulder, but it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't stop her. "Barry," she repeats forcefully.
The silence is deafening.
They stay for as long as they can, as long as they dare, until they are aching and Cisco is desperately close to losing his line back to Earth, when, without warning, Iris hears a soft voice: "…Iris?"
It's pitch-black, but she sees him emerge nearby, glowing faintly gold. He's in the suit, a unbroken, unmarked version of it, and his inquisitive frown melts as he approaches. "Iris," he repeats, and then he runs towards her.
She doesn't think because she knows she can trust it, trust Speed Force where she cannot trust herself: she lets go of Cisco because she needs both arms to catch him.
They topple back onto solid ground, Cisco panting nearby, and oh, ow, God, Barry-you're-such-a-moose, but she's crying and hugging him too because Barry-Barry-Barry-Barry.
"Oh honey," she says, over and over, holding onto him. "You're here. You're here."
He breathes her name against her shoulder and she laughs, and sobs, and says, "Barry."
He's home. He's home.
. o .
Oh you gave me no other choice
But to love you
Don and Dar are curled up next to him, asleep. Barry doesn't move for fear of waking them, leaning back against the headboard, eyes warm and half-mast. Padding silently into the room, Iris finds space at his side and slides an arm around his stomach, holding onto him, and he feels her sigh against his shirt, exhausted, contented, relieved.
Echoing it with every heartbeat, he presses a kiss to her temple.
I love you, he whispers, too quietly for the twins to hear.
I love you, I love you, I love you…
. o .
All I wanna do is come running to you
Come running home to you
And all my life I promise to
Keep running home to you
They're fifty-one and stupid in love.
He's learned a lot – too much, not enough – and looks at his kids with radiant pride.
They never see the same things he does here, and Dar is bold while Don is cautious, and the creature that greets Barry is never the same across the board, but once.
The Ghost approaches, an intangible black shadow, and both Don and Dar stare. Don unconsciously steps behind him, and Barry feels Dar lean her shoulder against his. But the Ghost morphs and they both relax, and Barry smiles at the vision of his mother.
"They're beautiful," his mother says, and Barry bows his head. Don shuffles and Dar takes a step forward, and his mother says, "Hi, sweethearts." They're twenty-two, just old enough to handle the Speed Force, and he understands their trepidation and admires their trust. The Speed Force doesn't force anything, and Barry takes a deep breath and steps forward, and he hugs her tightly, because he needs it, and he lets her go, because he needs that too.
And then he hugs his kids and lets them go, and opens his eyes, and finds himself in STAR Labs, surrounded by his team. A second later, Don and Dar join him, holding hands, grounding each other in the right present, and Barry smiles as they both start talking so fast he can barely understand it, Dad-Dad-Dad-you-won't-believe-what-we-saw. He learns it all eventually, and thinks about how hostile the Speed Force can be, how unforgiving – and how utterly sweet, too.
Cisco is duly impressed, Joe growls playfully that they're going to give him a heart attack, and Wally and Linda are congratulatory, pleased. Caitlin still frets over them, but even she can't suppress an amused remark that they're going to end up surpassing their dad in a few years if he doesn't stop revealing all of his tricks. Barry just smiles and rocks back on his heels, patient as Iris hugs the kids first, reassures herself, and then she takes him and he doesn't hesitate, lifts her up and Flashes them off, and he slides to a gentle halt on the rooftop. It's midafternoon creeping towards sunset, beautiful and brisk, summer in the air.
Setting her down, he rests his hands on her waist and smiles at her, rocking idly from side-to-side. "They're fast learners," he remarks.
"What have you gotten me into, Barry West-Allen?" she asks, hands on his shoulders as they sway.
He grins and pauses, leaning in to nuzzle her nose. "The rest of our lives," he teases, kissing her, and she wraps her arms around his neck to hold him there.
Tilting his head to kiss her cheek, he rests his head on her shoulder for a moment, and feels a hand cradle the back of his head, and feels it when she says, "I love you."
"I love you," he echoes, and pulls back so he can continue their dance.
They sway, and he hums, and it doesn't matter that it's been half a lifetime since he sang it.
All I wanna do is come running home to you, come running home to you.And all my life I promise to, keep running home to you—
"Keep running home to you."