Heavy gauze laid in the gaping hole in Barry's chest, thanks to the thermite-infused bomb used by Reverse Flash during their final battle. Anyone else would have been pulverized on the spot, but the speed force, Cisco had theorized, had a soft spot for its crimson hero, and had acted on his behalf, manifesting itself in the form of a shield, and redirecting the energy back to the Reverse Flash before he could get away, killing him instantly. Unfortunately, not even it had been strong enough to protect Barry from the impact, which had been created solely with the intent to break through a speedster's defenses.
The speedster strength painkillers that Caitlin had shot him up with were the only things that had quieted his screeching, but his situation was still bleak. Gently as she could, she'd warned Iris: Barry's cells were in a rapid state of degeneration; his body wasn't healing—and save for a miracle, that probably wouldn't come (ever the scientist)—Barry would be dead before day fall. "If you want to say goodbye, I can wake him up, but he probably won't be able to respond," the doctor, whose face was streaked with tears, had said, before exiting the room to join Joe, Cisco, and Nora in the cortex.
It was an attempt to give Iris a moment of privacy with her husband, but she resented the fact that she was alone to deal with this. Pressing her eyes shut, she choked back the pesky sob in her throat that threatened to send her into a full-on breakdown.
Iris's legs had buckled, those first moments after Cisco had breached Barry back into the med bay. For all of the horrific screaming coming from Barry's comms, the sight of the man she'd fallen in love with, bleeding profusely, skin singed, body still smoking, knocked the wind out of her father hadn't been standing behind her, she would have surely hit the floor. The added visual element painted a crystal clear picture of his condition.
Relief passed over Iris when Caitlin knocked him out, but could she live with him being in complete agony, the last time she'd ever see him awake?
Ominous beeping interrupted her thoughts.
Iris's eyes shot to the heart monitor.
Barry's heart rate had dropped from 500 to 450 beats a minute—critically low for a speedster whose resting heart rate topped out at 950, and Iris realized realized she was on the clock.
437.
436.
428.
416.
400.
Hand pressed over her mouth, she shook her head. "I don't know what to do."
Once Barry's heart rate plummeted to 200, death would come within minutes, and her chance to get closure would be gone forever.
Grappling between allowing the love of her life to live out his final moments in unimaginable pain—just so she could say her goodbyes, or letting him pass on serenely, was the hardest decision she'd ever had to make. It was a decision, which she was alternating between by the minute, it seemed.
Iris's mind traveled to Nora. She was seated out in the cortex, being entertained by a weary Papa Joe and Uncle Cisco. Nora thought it a treat that she was allowed to stay up this late, without being coaxed to go to bed. She hadn't the slightest idea that the single person in the world whose arms she'd allow herself to fall asleep in, whose voice had sung her favorite lullabies, and soothed her midnight cries, was dying.
Nora would never know, first hand, the depth of Barry's love for her, or how every single decision he'd made since she was born was based on his insistence on keeping her safe and happy.
As much as Iris loved Barry, that is probably what hurt the most.
Their daughter would never know how Barry's eyes had lit up when she'd finally emerged from Iris's womb, after her long, excruciating labor, or how that smile hadn't left his face since, even on bad days. She would never know how she occupied a place in his heart, that no one else-not even Iris-had before, and that her mere existence, created a compartment accessed only by her.
She would never knew that goofy happiness that had radiated from every single cell in Barry's body, when he'd sped in on her taking her first steps. His body was blazing in pain, from fighting with an angry meta, but in that moment, all he felt was joy.
She would never know how in tune with her he was. The slightest mumble, made in the middle of the night, would wake him. Even if he knew she was okay, he still had to be sure.
"Heaven doesn't need another angel—we need him, God," she begrudged in anger, slamming her fists into the walls. She'd reconcile her anger with her creator later, repenting if necessary. Right now, she had to release what she was feeling.
She didn't understand how a man who spent every single waking hour, serving others, running towards bullets, into fires, into a sociopathic speedster's trap, knowing that it might be the last damn fight he'd ever fight, be just blown to shreds like a rag doll?
How could God see fit to let him die when rapists and murderers were sleeping somewhere peacefully, while Iris had her baby in a cold, dreary lab at 11 pm at night, so she could see her father one last time, and hope that his mangled body didn't give her innocent eyes nightmares for years to come?
If the wages of sin was death, then how could undying sacrifice bring about worse consequences: a darker, more painful death, marked by ripples, which extended much farther than just Barry's life?
The city was losing its hero, Joe, a son, Cisco, a best friend, Iris, a husband, and sweet, baby Nora, whose bones already crackled with electricity every time she got excited, or upset, was losing a father—the one man who could teach her how to hone that power that coursed through her veins.
Nora West-Allen would suffer the very same fate that she and Barry had—robbed of a chance to grow up in a two-parent home, filled to the brim with more love than her heart could hold.
Overflowing love is what had led to Nora's creation, and overflowing love is what would lead to Barry's demise.
It was a nasty reminder of the vicious circle of life, just like the fact that Barry's transformation into a speedster had started in this godforsaken building, and his transition into the void would take place here as well.
"It's not fair," she said aloud, walking back over to Barry's bed, then grabbed his hands in her own.
They were covered in blisters and abrasions, and were leathery to the touch, smelling strongly of burnt flesh—nothing like the hands that had known her body inside and out, which had been used to comfort her, and cook her gourmet-worthy meals. Nothing like the hands she'd held in the dark when they'd watch scary movies, or the ones which would wipe her tears away when she confided in him about her ability to be a good mother, or her other fears, which he'd assured her were baseless.
She noticed his white gold wedding band sitting pristinely upon his ring finger, the only one left untouched, and that's when she lost it.
Deep, guttural cries sprang forth from the bottom of her stomach—a cruel taunt from the universe if she'd ever seen one.
This was not supposed to be their life.
Their days were supposed to have been filled with love and laughter, burnt dinners made by Iris, which Barry would have had to teach Nora to pretend to enjoy, until Nora was old enough to cook.
They were supposed to go to Disneyland. They'd never been before, despite Barry's ability to travel far and wide. Their schedules were always too packed, but Nora would be the person who broke that mold, because it's not like he'd ever be able to turn her down.
A few years after that, Barry was supposed to escort Nora to her first father/daughter dance, later on, walk her down the aisle to the only man he hadn't managed to scare off, the one person who was worthy of his daughter's love.
Iris was not supposed to watch her husband die a slow, painful death. They were supposed to live a long, life together, grow old, then die of natural causes. Their daughter, hopefully in her old age, was supposed to bury them both, after having enjoyed a long life with them.
She pressed his hand into her chest, and rested her head over his lifeless body, unleashing the sobs which wanted, more than anything, to be set free. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair, and she couldn't go on pretending like it was.
"I don't know how I'm going to live without you, Barry. How am I supposed to face each day, without the person who makes even the most daunting situations feel like a walk in the park? How am I supposed to raise our daughter alone? I'm not a speedster, I don't know teach her to be a hero. I need you to pull through, please. I don't care if Caitlin says it's impossible. Our entire lives revolved around the impossible, and if anyone could beat this, it would be you, Barr. Please, I love you so much. I need you. The team needs you. Our daughter needs you."
Beep.
Iris ignored the machine. She knew she couldn't stomach seeing that the number had dipped even lower.
Again, it beeped.
She shook her head. "Oh God."
Then once more, and tgain after that.
"God, He's getting worse." If she was going to have Caitlin wake him, it was now or never.
Slowly, she raised her head and, with strained eyes, looked over to the monitor.
To her surprise, it read: 458. Then 468, 490, 550, 579. She cocked a brow, watching in awe as the numbers before her climbed higher and higher, each jump signaling a stronger heartbeat than before.
610.
Was the miracle Caitlin had encouraged her not to expect, show up at the last minute? More importantly, would she be strong enough, in the event it hadn't?
The pained voicing of her name, drawing out the "I" sound, coupled with movement underneath her hand, cut through her skepticism. Iris blinked in disbelief. Her eyes welled up with cautiously hopeful tears. Slowly, she turned back to see Barry looking up at her, a pained smile resting on his face.
"B-Barry?"
To be continued in part 2.