Cisco sleeps on the floor.
Barry tells him – repeatedly – to go home.
"It's so late," he says, and he's whining, but Cisco's being ridiculous, and he just needs him to know that because Caitlin isn't there to back him up. Caitlin went home – granted, she's on speed dial with strict orders to call if anything changes, but she still went home – and Joe is home and Iris is home and Cisco should be home.
Instead, he brought a sleeping bag, two pillows, and a fresh bag of corn chips.
Crunching down on one loudly, he teases, "Upset we can't play Spin the Bottle and talk about girls?"
Barry wants to huff but that much movement is frowned upon, nowadays, when his chest is little more than pain. "Cisco Ramon. Womanizer."
"You know it." Munching on a second chip, he asks in a slightly muffled voice, "So how is Patty, anyway? As dreamy as you hoped?"
"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full," Barry chides, husky, soft.
"Not you, too," Cisco says, the pout almost visible in his voice. "Next you'll be telling me not to put my feet up on the desk when I'm having breakthroughs."
"Cisco."
"You," he says, appearing briefly in Barry's sightline so he can glare in mock reproach, "are avoiding my question."
He sinks back to the floor and Barry sighs, closing his eyes.
"She's really great," he says at last. "Kind. Doesn't push me. Likes who I am. Very smart." Listening to Cisco crunch chips, he continues, idly wondering if Cisco can even hear him. "She makes me feel like I did before Zoom came into the equation. Happy. Like things are going to be okay."
Cisco swallows and there's silence for a moment, little other than the heating system to keep them company.
"Tell me about Kendra," Barry insists, feeling small and alone, and it isn't until he hears Cisco shuffle closer that he chances a look over the side of the bed.
"Hi," he greets, sinking back onto the bed so, so slowly, eyes shutting because God, being awake is hard, being himself is harder, being a human being at all seems above him.
Cisco bites down on a chip and says, "She's sweet. Comfortable. Sort of like the girl you date that one summer back in college when it's easy to fall in and out of love with people." Contemplatively, he adds, "Is that weird?"
"I don't think so," Barry says softly. "Although it's very weird that you're still here, on the floor, eating chips. Caitlin will be very mad if you get crumbs on anything."
"And I will be very mad if you're left here, alone, when you're still stuck in a bed," Cisco finishes lightly. He crunches another chip, and Barry's not sure if he's more annoyed or touched. He'd give a lot to be on the cold floor beside him if it meant he could get up and walk away if he wanted to, but he's still grateful to have Cisco there at all.
Even if: "You're ridiculous."
"Hey, you think this is selfless, but I'm just waiting for loopy Allen to kick in for some real blackmail."
"Is that what this is about," Barry says huskily, amused.
"Uh huh. Got my phone ready to record and everything," Cisco says, holding up his arm, phone in hand.
"You're ridiculous," Barry says again, chest hurting, but still smiling in spite of himself.
"Hey, I'm friends with the Flash," Cisco says seriously, crunching down on another chip, "so I must be doing something right."
The humor drops out of Barry's voice as he replies quietly, "The Flash died if my back doesn't heal right."
"Which is exactly why it's going to heal right," Cisco answers serenely. "Do you honestly want to bet against Caitlin Snow? The Caitlin Snow? Not to mention her devastatingly handsome assistant, Cisco Ramon."
"Devastatingly handsome," Barry repeats.
"He's also been known for his selflessness, bravery, and charm, but handsome suffices," Cisco demurs. When Barry chuckles, he adds, "I can already see the headline. 'The Man Who Saved the Man Who Saved Central City Does It Again.'"
"Kind of a mouthful."
Cisco chews on a chip. "It's a work in progress."
"Mm." Barry listens to the hum of the heating system interrupted by the occasional crunch from Cisco, feeling a sense of peace settling over him.
"Why'd you stay?" he asks, words starting to slur a little, sleepiness overcoming his need to be polite and stay awake.
"Because it's the least I can do," Cisco replies simply.
Barry wants to tell him that he doesn't have to stay, that he doesn't expect him to, that he doesn't need him to, but a quiet part of him is still too grateful for the company to risk losing it.
"Thank you, Cisco," he says instead.
"Any time," Cisco replies. There's a beat, and then he asks, "Need anything?"
"No," Barry replies truthfully. His head hurts, his neck hurts, his back hurts, and his legs are still deadweight below the waist, but he's as comfortable as he's been since regaining consciousness. He hopes that soon comfortable won't mean a pain that is tolerable, but he's willing to wait.
He's lucky to be alive, and he can't take it for granted, imagining Zoom's face as he says, "Goodbye, Flash."
He stares at the ceiling, trying to erase the image from his mind, and there's a shuffling sound at his side but he doesn't look because tilting his head hurts, every little movement hurts, and then something soft nudges his arm and he looks down.
It's a teddy bear, and Barry thinks, How old am I? but he takes it from Cisco's grasp and holds it in both hands, rubbing its belly thoughtfully.
On one foot, there's a red lightning bolt he knows too well, and there are tears in his eyes at the thought that the Flash is dead, that this whole world he's created is over, that his life, his friends, his ability to run, is over.
"This little guy," Cisco says, "is Beary. Get it? Like Bear, ee. Bear-y."
And Barry laughs, laughs for the first time in a long time, laughs until there are tears streaming down his face and he's trying to calm down before he dislocates a rib from keeping it soft, restrained.
"I can't believe this exists," Barry says at last, wondering how his life changed so much that he's not just someone who can do the impossible – he's a person other people admire, so much, that someone took the time and effort to create a teddy bear with a Flash-bolt on its foot.
"You wouldn't believe how many people care about you," Cisco says. "The Flash is so much more than a guy in a red suit who runs into a burning building to save a handful of strangers. You're a hero. And people see that about you."
Barry stares at the teddy, resting on his abdomen, and says softly, "The pictures will be all over the news."
He can almost see it in his mind's eye – The Flash Vanishes in Crisis – and he has to close his eyes because Reverse-Flash is gone (and Eddie, and Ronnie, and Eobard Thawne) but it still feels too close to home.
"You know what else is all over the news?" Cisco adds lightly, speaking softly in the dark. "People leaving get-well-soon responses. Strangers talking about how you saved their lives, how you made them feel better after a terrible week, how you gave them hope. The world is dangerous and people get hurt, but you're out there helping so many of them, and that's what people care about. They're scared for you. We all were. But they love you, too, Barry. They love you."
He tries to speak, but there's a lump in his throat, and it's easier to squeeze the teddy gently than respond out loud.
After a countless period of time, Cisco asks quietly, "You still awake?"
"Uh huh," Barry replies, sleepy, not sure where his wakefulness stems – except he knows that if he closes his eyes, Zoom will be back, and he can't, he doesn't dare, he won't stand a chance –
Cisco yawns, deeply, and says, "He's there when you sleep, isn't he?"
Startled, Barry asks huskily, "How do you—"
"I couldn't sleep well for days after I saw what happened to me – to me in the timeline you ended," he elaborates.
"Cisco," Barry says softly, apologetically, hating that he couldn't be faster to stop it from happening, that he hadn't put the pieces together soon enough.
"It's okay," Cisco assures, and he seems to mean it, too. "Now it's just a bad dream. It's not real."
"Yeah," Barry echoes, because he remembers the agony of having his back broken even though the memory is stunted, dulled by pain and painkillers. He wishes he could erase it, to step back and run when he had a chance, but he can't, and that's as true as Cisco's living, breathing form at his side.
Some changes are for the better, but every action has a consequence.
"I know how real it feels," Cisco says seriously, and Barry appreciates that he doesn't sugarcoat it, doesn't pretend it isn't terrifying and raw, "and I know you can't make it go away, either. Which is why I'm here. We hit him with a lethal dose of speed-suppressing serum, which won't kill him because his metabolism is faster than we projected, but it's going to slow him down. He's not coming back any time soon, Barry."
Barry squeezes the teddy lightly, wishing he could instill the same sense of certainty into his subconscious.
"It's hard, but you don't have to do it alone," Cisco finishes.
Barry's silent for a long time, processing it, wrestling with the idea of trusting Cisco when he's had too many experiences to the contrary, that anything could hide in the dark and there were a thousand things that could kill him.
But he also had a team who had kept him alive in spite of everything, who loved him and supported him and hadn't abandoned him even though he might be crippled for life, and he feels some of the tension unwind from his chest as he takes it in.
They love the Flash – and he loves being the Flash – but they love Barry Allen, too, and somehow, he thinks, it's all going to be okay.
It's easier to believe when they're all together and everyone's chatting, quietly, respecting the fact that he's dozing but never going completely silent, because there's always something worthwhile and Barry doesn't want them to stop on his behalf (doesn't want to be alone).
But he finds that, holding the teddy, listening to Cisco's breathing at his side, he can breathe.
Sleep is slow, and tantalizing, sweeping over him like low tide. He resurfaces to the susurration of Caitlin's movements as she crosses the room, checking vitals, and his arm flexes sluggishly, still holding the bear, and Cisco's snoring at his side, and he's rarely felt in better hands than he does then.
If Cisco feels safe enough to sleep, then it's safe enough for him. And if Caitlin doesn't wake him up to tell him anything, then he knows that it's safe to set down the world for a while.
He can trust them, and if they're okay, then he'll be okay, too.
Sleep tugs at his hand, trying to guide him away, and he knows he should follow, but he clings to consciousness, blinking through barely open eyes at Caitlin.
"Hey," he says, soft, voice barely above a rumble, eyelids already sliding shut again.
"Go back to sleep," she whispers, carefully tucking the blanket over his chest, and he's drifting down, down, down, leaving the world in her hands, in Cisco's, and feeling a tension in his chest release at the thought that it's okay.
He doesn't always have to keep the vigil, to be the one looking out for everyone.
That's what friends are for.