Important: If you haven't read Prejudice, this probably won't make much sense to you. If you're one of the many who were unable to finish Prejudice because of its sensitive material, you may find the aftermath of the story slightly more bearable to read.

Warning: This story will deal with sensitive topics/themes and may be triggering to some readers.

Cracks

Numb fingers ran over the cracks in the glass, hardly even feeling it. His whole body was numb. At least, it felt that way to him most of the time. A numb brain makes the body senseless, the world colorless, food tasteless. His eyes were unfocused, hardly even seeing the small numbers beneath the glass his fingers were brushing over.

All he could see was the crack.

Barry let out a heavy sigh as he redid the strap on the watch, securing it firmly to his wrist. He hadn't taken it off since Joe had given it back to him. He could hardly ever bring himself to look at it, though. Not because it was broken and didn't function anymore. It wasn't the broken mechanics of the watch that bothered him.

It was the crack.

"Barry?"

Barry slowly turned his head, looking up from his bed to see Joe lingering in his doorway.

"You're going to be late," he said gently, "Your meeting starts at—"

"I know what time it is," Barry said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Joe let out a heavy sigh and drifted over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I know you don't want to do this," he said sadly, "We've been trying to give you time, but…it's been a month, Bar."

Barry took a deep breath through his nose and nodded, his face remaining flat.

"I could go with you?" Joe suggested hopefully, "If that would make it any easier."

Barry sighed and shook his head.

"No," he said softly, "I'll be fine on my own."

"Are you sure?" Joe asked in a strained voice.

Barry nodded, his face firm.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Joe let out a heavy sigh, a disappointed expression on his face. Barry knew why. Joe didn't like Barry leaving the house alone. He was always desperately encouraging him to get out of the house for a while, but Joe didn't like him leaving without another person accompanying him. Barry couldn't take anyone else with him for this, though, even if he wanted to. He didn't even want to go in the first place. Joe had insisted, though.

Everyone had insisted.

"Did you get some rest?" Joe asked as Barry sat up in bed.

Barry sighed as he got up and slowly started pulling his shoes on.

"I tried," he mumbled.

Joe gave him a sympathetic look and put his hand on Barry's shoulder.

"Did you try the pills Caitlin gave you?" he asked gently.

Barry shook his head.

"I don't like the way they make me feel," he said quietly, "I gave them a shot, but I don't like feeling…disconnected. I need things to feel real."

Joe nodded sadly, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he tried to understand what Barry meant. Barry couldn't fault them for it, for not understanding everything he was thinking and feeling. He hardly understood it himself sometimes. He wished they wouldn't try so hard, though. He was tired of being analyzed. Barry just wanted things to go back to normal.

"You're going to actually go to it this time, right?" Joe asked him seriously as Barry was pulling on his coat, "Not just leave the house and pretend like you went."

"Yes, Joe," Barry sighed, "I'm going."

"Okay," Joe whispered, pressing his lips tightly together.

He watched with a thoughtful look on his face as Barry crossed the room to grab his wallet, no doubt taking note of the fact Barry surpassed the mirror without even glancing at it. Barry never looked in the mirror. He hadn't since the first day he came home. He didn't want to see the stranger looking back at him. He didn't want to see his gaunt, hollow cheeks, shaved hair or lifeless eyes. It made him sick just to look at it.

He probably did look better now, he supposed. His hair had definitely grown, not quite to what it was before but getting there. He had gained a good nineteen pounds over the last four weeks. He was 104 pounds when he first got out of the camp, and he still had a long way to go before he'd get back up to the healthy 185 he was at before. Although Barry had more energy now, he still didn't physically feel like he had gained any weight. He was still severely underweight, and he still felt like a walking skeleton everywhere he went.

It made him stand out.

As Barry left the house and made his way to the bus stop, he pulled his jacket hood up to conceal his face. People could still take one look at him and know instantly that he was a metahuman, though. They didn't even need to see the barcode on his wrist to see that. His physique said it all. He couldn't change it, though. There was nothing Barry could do about his weight, but he could at least hide his face. He tugged his jacket hood forward, shielding his face from the prying eyes of the people he passed on the street.

They all knew his face now.

Anywhere Barry went, people recognized him. He was Barry Allen, the "hero of the Metacide." Just those words made him feel sick to his stomach. Barry had even grown to hate the sound of his own name. He cringed when people called out to him on the sidewalk.

The bus was worse, though. He couldn't simply walk away when people recognized him. He always had to wait until he reached his stop. He could always have taken a cab, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, not after all the times cab drivers had refused to drive him because of the barcode on his wrist. Now, they probably would be delighted to drive him, but Barry still couldn't bring himself to flag down a taxi. He had his own bitterness to thank for that.

As Barry climbed up the bus steps, he kept his face tilted downwards, doing everything he could to avoid being recognized. People still stared. Everyone on the bus stared as the obvious metahuman shuffled down the aisle, trying to get to a back seat. Barry heard a few whispers, but he didn't look up. He never looked up. It seemed like an eternity before he finally reached the back of the bus. Unfortunately, he couldn't find sanctuary in one of the seats when he got there. The bus was packed, and a good amount of people were standing. Barry took a deep, steadying breath as he found a place to stand, holding onto the railing for support.

"Here," a woman said suddenly to him, "Take my seat."

Barry glanced nervously at her, his eyes instantly flitting to the woman's engorged stomach. She was pregnant. Barry's gut wrenched. Did he really look so frail and broken that pregnant women would give up their seats on the bus for him?

"I'm okay," Barry said softly, looking down again, "Thank you, though."

The woman nodded, her eyes filling with sympathy as she looked at him. Barry looked away. He was tired of the pitying looks people gave him, and worse: the looks of admiration.

It only took a few people. A few people standing near him got a closer look at his face and their pitying expressions shifted, the usual admiration taking its place. Barry's stomach started to churn.

They recognized him.

As Barry stood there, waiting impatiently for the bus reach his stop, the whispering started. Barry closed his eyes in anguish. He could hear everyone whispering excitedly to each other, passing the news all the way down the bus.

"Barry Allen is on this bus!"

"We're on the same bus as the Flash!"

Barry clenched his hands in frustration. They could at least be settle about it. No one was even bothering to hide their stares now. All heads on the bus seemed to be turned towards him, staring openly. Barry looked down at the floor, his face flat and his eyes not making contact with anyone's. Thankfully, a good portion of people didn't have the nerve to come up and approach him. They would just stare from afar and whisper to each other.

It only took one person to make that change.

As soon as one person approached him, everyone would. Sure enough, a young boy suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Flash?"

Barry took a deep, steadying breath and looked down at the boy, trying not to let his frustration show.

"Can I get your autograph?" the boy asked timidly, holding out a pen and paper.

Barry's face was made of stone as he nodded and took the pen and paper. He hardly paid attention as he scribbled his name down on the page. He never signed as the Flash, using just his normal name for autographs instead. Sometimes he would only sign his first name. Anything to get people to walk away from him faster.

Sure enough, as anticipated, when the young boy scurried away, others quickly approached him. It always happened without fail. Once one person interacted with him, they all would.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you did."

"The city owes you so much, Mr. Allen. You're a hero."

"Are you going to be the Flash again? Do you have your powers back yet?"

"Can I get my picture with you?! No one is ever going to believe I met you!"

Barry sucked in a strained breath, willing himself to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. No. He wasn't about to start crying on a public bus. He had more control than that. If he didn't cry at home, he certainly wasn't going to do it here.

Barry didn't look anyone in the eye as they all pressed in around him. He gave the occasional nod of acknowledgment or muttered a small response here and there, but he didn't actually look at anyone.

He just wanted to reach his stop.

It felt like an eternity to Barry by the time he finally did. As soon as the bus came to a stop outside the community building, Barry pushed his way to the front, now fully ignoring the people pestering him and snapping photos of him with their phones. As soon as Barry made it off the bus, he took a deep, shaky breath, leaning up against a light post for support.

A moment ago, he had been fighting back tears. Now, he was fighting back vomit. It made him sick. The admiration and praise he got from complete strangers made him feel physically ill with shame. If one more person called him a hero, Barry was going to actually be sick. Doing what it took to survive? That made him a hero?!

He should just go home. He wasn't up for this today. He wasn't ever going to be up for this. He had promised Joe, though. He had promised him he wouldn't bail this time. This was Barry's fourth time being here, and just like all the other times, he couldn't even enter the building. Last time, he had stood outside the door for a good two hours before deciding to go home.

He wasn't going to chicken out this time, though. He had to do this. If not for himself, then for his family. He owed it to them to try.

Barry took a deep breath before pulling open the door. As he entered the building, he felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He didn't stop walking, though. He kept his legs moving, numbly following the signs posted throughout the hallways, telling him which way to go. He reached the room way too quickly. In no time at all, Barry suddenly found himself standing outside the door he had been searching for: Room 113.

Barry didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the door, his hand inches from the handle. His mind was racing. What if he just went home and lied about it this time? He didn't have to admit to Joe that he didn't go. He could just lie about the whole thing, pretend like he had gone for once.

No. He wasn't a coward. After everything he had been through, he could handle this. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but he could handle it. Taking a deep breath, Barry opened the door.

A moment ago, he had heard people talking inside the room. As soon as he stepped in, though, the voices ceased and the room went dead silent. Barry suddenly had a room full of eyes, staring at him. He saw the exact moment when their eyes widened as they recognized who he was.

"Um, hi," he said awkwardly, wringing his hands, "Sorry I'm late."

They all just blinked at him, continuing to stare. Barry felt his face heat up, and he had half a mind to bolt. Before he could, however, a woman suddenly stood up, giving him a warm smile.

"No worries," she said kindly, "We're so happy to have you here, Mr. Allen. Please, come introduce yourself and take a seat."

Barry nodded, his breath catching slightly in his chest as he crossed the room, approaching the circle of chairs. He paused in front of the remaining empty one, the one that had been sitting there for him for the last three weeks, empty. He looked around the circle then, at the curious eyes staring up at him. There were ten or so other people in the room, all of them metahumans aside from the woman who had spoken.

Barry's heart hammered in his chest. It was the first time he had seen other metahumans since the camp. He had been in his own private hospital room at Keystone Memorial, and he had barely left the house since getting home. He didn't know how to feel, being around other survivors. What did they think of him? Did they hate him? Did they love and adore him like the rest of the city?

Barry didn't know which would be worse.

"I…I'm Barry Allen," he stammered, wringing his hands and looking at the floor, "And…I'm a…a metahuman."

"A survivor," the lead counselor corrected gently, giving him an encouraging smile.

Barry glanced at her and nodded slightly, not saying anything.

"Hi, Barry," everyone said softly as he took his seat.

As he sank down in his chair, Barry hoped the attention would finally deflect away from him, but it didn't. Everyone was still looking at him.

"Barry, would you like to share anything with the group today?" the counselor, Lori Fischer, asked gently.

Barry looked at her with wide eyes, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

"You don't have to," she said quickly, "If you prefer to just listen for now, that's completely okay. You can share with us whenever you're ready, and we'll listen without judgement. We support each other here."

Barry nodded slightly, his throat dry.

"I…I think I'll just listen today," he said quietly.

Lori nodded in understanding, giving him a small smile. Their support meeting resumed then, other people speaking up and finally pulling some of the attention away from him. As other people shared with the group, though, Barry could still feel curious eyes glancing at him periodically. He did his best to ignore them, keeping his eyes trained on whoever was speaking, straining to focus on what they were saying.

"My husband has been so supportive," one woman shared, "But no matter what we do, we can't seem to get back to where we were before. He tries to understand, but he just…doesn't. And there's no way I can ever explain it to him..."

"…My parents are acting like nothing even happened," one teenage boy said in anguish, "They're acting like everything is back to normal and happy again, but it's not. I know I told them I didn't want to talk about it, but…I didn't want to just ignore it either."

"I would love it if my family did that," a man responded, "All I want is to move on, but they've been forcing me to talk about it and process it. They keep sending me to therapy and these support meetings. I really don't mind coming to group, though. It's helped me more than anything…being around people who understand…"

"….I just can't stop seeing his face," a man sobbed, "I barely even knew the guy, but I worked alongside him every day in that ditch. When they shot him right in front of me like that…I can't get it out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. I hear the gunshot over and over again. It feels like it's never going to stop…"

"…My sister was in there with me," a woman whispered, "She was loaded into a different truck when we were taken. I looked for her every day in the zone, but I never found her. I never got to see her before she died in the lab…"

"…I'll be perfectly fine once I get this fucking chip out of my neck," a man gritted furiously, "I've applied for the surgery seven times now, only to have it denied over and over again. Those bastards keep saying my powers are too dangerous, that I need to be more mentally stable before I can have them back. I don't care about my powers. I just want this thing out of me!"

"It's because of the Jorgenson incident," a woman added angrily, "One stupid metahuman gets his powers back and goes badshit crazy attacking people, and now the rest of us can't get the surgery?! Who are they to force us into keep this disgusting technology inside of us?!"

Barry stared at the floor, his hands clenched into fists. He agreed wholeheartedly with them. It was so wrong. No one should be forced to have an intrusive device inserted into their body. He'd do anything to get rid of his. That's why he was here. Hopefully, if he went to a few group support meetings, they'd finally approve him for the surgery. He knew exactly how the others felt. He knew the desperation and frustration that came with being repeatedly turned down. He had applied eleven times, himself, now, and each time, he had been unsuccessful.

He had thought his history of being the Flash would help him, but the Metahuman Support Foundation had seen it differently. He had what the MSF considered "Grade 5" powers, meaning his were rated at the highest risk level. They saw his abilities as potentially dangerous, which meant he had far more hoops to jump through than someone with a lower grade ability would.

It didn't help that his suffering had been broadcasted to the entire country. Barry knew that the videos broadcasted by the Lucy Resistance had helped save him, but now they were inhibiting his process with the MSF. They claimed he had been through more trauma than most typical metahumans and would therefore require more therapy and psychological evaluation before getting his powers back. They disregarded his history of being a benefactor to the city. They didn't give him special treatment because he was Barry Allen or the Flash. He had to go through their process like anyone else.

After the person next to him had finished speaking, all eyes turned to Barry. It was his turn to speak.

"Pass," Barry whispered.

Thankfully, they didn't press him. Lori simply nodded, giving him a sad smile before turning to the next person. Curious eyes continued to glance at him, though, watching his facial expressions. Barry kept his face smooth as he stared at the floor, listening to the next person talk.

As Barry sat and listened to the stories and the thoughts of his fellow metahumans, he felt a typhoon of conflicting emotions swirl in his gut. He didn't want to hear about it. Hearing about other people's experiences made him think about his own, something he had been actively trying not to do. At the same time, it made him feel less alone. Until now, Barry had felt alone in his grief, but now he suddenly found himself sitting with a group of people who were feeling the exact same things he had been.

It wasn't exactly the same, though.

These people had been through hell. There was no refuting that. They had suffered tremendously at the hands of Clinton Price, just like Barry did. There was a huge difference between them and him, though.

They weren't Barry Allen, the hero of the Metacide. They weren't famous for their part in the modern-day genocide. Their faces weren't plastered all over the city and on the evening news. They didn't have the entire city watching them, expecting them to come forward and make some big public statement, expecting them to play a part in Clinton Price's trial, speculating when they'd get their powers back and protect the city again. They were free. All they had to focus on now was their recovery. On getting their chips removed. Reconnecting with their families. Moving on.

Barry would never be free.

The others would all recover and move on, but the Central City Metacide would follow Barry for the rest of his life. He would never be free of it. He was the face of it. He was the walking mascot of the Lucy Resistance, the washed up hero of Central City, who wasn't even sure if he was ever going to don his suit again. At least there was one good thing about him not having his chip removed yet. The public couldn't pressure him. He didn't have his powers right now, so no one could pressure him to be the Flash again.

At least, not for now.

People were protesting, though. He had seen it on the evening news. People in Central City had started a movement to get Barry Allen approved for surgery: to get the Flash back. Barry wished they wouldn't. He wanted the chip out more than anyone, but now that the city was on his side, trying to get him approved for his surgery, he would owe it to them to put the suit back on. He would have no choice but to become the Flash again. He wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, though.

He wanted to run.

God, he wanted to run. He wanted to feel the wind brushing past his face again, feel the lightning coursing through his veins. It had been nearly half a year now since he had lost his speed, and he was starting to forget what it even felt like. He didn't know what he was going to do once he got it back, though. Was he going to run to protect the city again?

Or was he going to run from the city and never look back?

When Lori suddenly called the meeting to a close, Barry was jerked away from his thoughts, just realizing now that he hadn't been paying attention to the last few members who had been sharing. He was alert now, though, shooting up from his chair as if he had just been electrocuted. Barry managed a small smile at the group leader before turning where he stood, crossing the room as fast as he could to get to the door now that the meeting was over. He yanked the door open and exited the room immediately, taking long strides down the hallway to exit the building as fast as possible.

"Hey, Barry!" someone called out from behind him.

Barry closed his eyes in frustration as he came to a stop in his tracks, reluctantly spinning around to face the person who had addressed him. The man hurried to catch up to him in the hallway, giving him an uneasy smile as he joined him.

"Wow, you're still fast even without your powers," the man joked with a breathy laugh.

Barry's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't find much humor in it. Not fast enough, apparently.

"I'm Dale," the man introduced, holding out his hand.

Barry stared at it for a moment before slowly reaching out to take it.

"Barry," he sighed, shaking the man's hand.

Dale smiled warmly at him.

"I just wanted to say we're all happy to have you in our group," he said kindly, "I hope we'll see you here again next week?"

Barry gave him an uneasy smile, his eyes flitting to the floor.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Yeah, maybe."

Dale's smile faltered slightly then.

"You don't really want to be here, do you?" he asked sadly.

Barry let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

"I don't know what I want," he said quietly, "Honestly, I only came because my family wanted me to and I thought it might help me get my chip removed faster."

Dale nodded and gave him a small smile.

"I was the same way," he admitted, "But trust me, if you stick to it, you'll come to look forward to these group meetings. They really do help…especially if you participate."

Barry looked down, fiddling with the strap on his watch as he considered what the man was saying. He stared at the cracked glass, his mind feeling numb and exhausted from his whole public outing for the day. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and never leave the house again. The words that escaped his mouth said otherwise, though.

"Okay," he said softly, "I'll see you next week."

He was dreading it already.