News of Mayor Queen's death arrive in Central City at 8:52 PM.
By 9:15, Barry is halfway to Star City.
He runs as fast as he can, tearing across the landscape. His breath arrives in gasps, fear and urgency driving him. The ground can't keep up with him; he flies over it, barely aware of the mileage. All he can think is Ollie, Ollie, no.
He needed to be there half an hour ago. He settles for 9:45 PM.
Oliver Queen has officially been dead for fifty-three minutes when Barry skates into the foundry.
Curtis Holt drops a latte on the floor and Felicity yelps, "H'oh my god." A veritable mountain of papers fly off the nearest consoles, creating a momentary blizzard of sheets. Though fire-proof, Barry's suit threatens to smoke from the Speed-heat pouring off of him. He shakes with exertion, putting out a hand to keep his balance. His vision blurs, struggling to bring the world into focus after his diehard sprint, and he doesn't see but he feels a heavy hand settle on his shoulder.
Then Oliver says, "It's okay."
Barry Flashes them to the empty floor above them without thinking.
He lets go of Oliver as soon as he can, disbelief and fear coursing through him. "Ollie?" he asks, voice trembling. He can't believe it.
He needs to, so badly he can't speak. Oliver says, "Breathe." Barry tries to, dizzy with relief. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. "I'm okay," Oliver explains. Closing the gap between them, he puts a hand on Barry's upper arm. Squeezing it lightly, he reminds, "You're okay."
Barry doesn't feel okay, heart attempting to lunge out of his chest. "How're you still alive?" he asks. It's too fast for Oliver to hear. Comprehension doesn't matter; Oliver pulls him into a hug anyway. Tears make their presence known as Oliver hugs him tight, grounded, present, real. "How did you – I saw the—"
Oliver doesn't say anything, letting him stutter out questions at incomprehensible speed. When he finally stops speaking, Oliver intrudes with a gentle, "We should go back downstairs or Curtis might think you kidnapped me."
Barry draws in a shuddering breath, sniffing once. Oliver produces a tissue pack from his pocket and it almost makes Barry start sobbing, it's so stupidly menial. He's also certain that it's a habit Oliver picked up from Felicity, which does make him sob, because Oliver died sixty-two minutes ago and Barry doesn't know how Felicity and he can possibly share the burden of the news.
Oliver sighs, not unkindly, and says, "Bar." He gives his shoulder a squeeze, insisting, "I'm right here. Okay? I am not dead."
Barry blows his nose, nodding and clearing his throat. "I'm sorry," he warbles. "I – Cisco's brother, he died, I couldn't – " I couldn't lose you, too.
"I know," Oliver says, somber, looking just as apologetic as Barry feels. "I was so sorry to hear about Dante's death."
A police officer's voice from a memory tells Barry quietly, There's been an accident involving Mr. Ramon. For one horrified second Barry faces a lifetime without Cisco, a lifetime without Cisco, and he cannot breathe. Then the qualifier Dante crosses the bridge to his sanity and he inhales sharply, heart stuttering in his chest. It hits him that his first response to Dante's death is relieved, and Barry hates himself a little for it, but not half as much as Cisco hates him for not responding to his pleas to go back in time. Pleas that would taper on for forever, years, centuries, eons, never losing conviction even as hope faded.
Felicity says, "Are we interrupting?" One foot lingers in the doorway, Curtis holding back behind her shoulder.
With a diplomatic air, Oliver turns to both of them, expression softening as he looks at Felicity. "No," he responds shortly, passing Barry the remainder of his tissue pack. "We should discuss this downstairs," he adds.
Felicity hesitates, nods, and finally turns, leading Curtis away.
Ninety-seven minutes after Mayor Queen's death, Barry, Felicity, Curtis, and the proxy deceased are safely ensconced in the underground lab. Oliver folds his arms, completes a lap across the floor, and begins, "Tobias Church wants me dead. I delivered."
"Who's Tobias Church?" Barry asks, almost weary with relief, sitting in a chair to keep his sea-legs under him.
"A very bad man," Oliver summarizes. "He leads a growing band of criminals. He also kidnapped my – Wild Dog."
Barry blinks. "I'm sorry?"
Oliver clears his throat, but a new entry to the foundry cuts in. "Told you it was a terrible nickname." Looking over Barry, he says, "You're that red streak."
"Yes," Oliver says, answering before Barry can. The implication is clear: preserve your identity. "He is."
Wild Dog tips his head in Barry's direction in lieu of a verbal greeting. A single look at his face induces an almost irrepressible need to go after his torturer. "What happened?" Barry asks, getting to his feet.
"Church," Wild Dog answers succinctly. "Why are you here? Don't you live in Central?" He sizes Barry up, taking note of his proximity to Oliver. Barry is surprised at the jealous look cast Oliver's way before it disappears.
It's all a little surreal – you wouldn't have any reason to be jealous if the present were real, if Oliver was dead – and Barry wraps his arms around himself to contain a shudder. It's like a bad dream he can't wake up from, convinced by a painful pit in his stomach that Oliver is actually dead, he must be, and Barry will wake up and face that horrifying reality any moment.
A woman – "Artemis" – joins them, asking if the plan worked. Barry feels out of his depth, surrounded by something he can't understand, by people he doesn't know, losing ground fast.
His vision tunnels and before any of them can speak, he Flashes out of sight.
He runs past city limits, skidding to a halt in the desert, gasping for air. It's cold and he can't seem to get enough oxygen within the confines of the suit, stripping off the cowl and loosening his collar desperately. A buzz in his pocket nearly startles him out of his skin; fumbling, he peels his cell phone out of it and answers on the second ring. "Hey," he says breathlessly, "what's up?"
Cisco says, "You okay? You ran out pretty quickly."
He doesn't know. Barry doesn't know how to explain. He doesn't even know if he should.
Cisco prompts him, "Barry?"
Barry rakes a hand through his hair and pets the back of his neck. "Oliver faked his own death," he husks. "I just got the memo."
A pause. Understanding dawns. "You're in Star."
"I'll be home soon," he finishes quietly, hanging up.
Shame wells up in him, burning his face. You overreacted. Dropping his hand, he tries to work up the steam to run, feeling deflated, tired. Even Flash seems gone, the coldness settling into his bones as he stands at the edge of the city.
He could – maybe should – leave.
Instead, he walks.
He walks back the way he came, only Flashing the final three blocks to avoid leading anyone to the Arrow's location. He hesitates by the elevator, but he needn't wait long – as though drawn by a sixth sense, the conversation below halts momentarily before resuming. Five seconds later, the elevator doors open. Oliver steps out of them and says, "I'm sorry."
Barry replies, "Don't be."
Oliver repeats, "I'm sorry." Stepping forward, he adds, "I didn't think you'd have time to see the news."
I have all the time in the world, Barry thinks.
He doesn't say anything.
Oliver walks up to him, right up to him, and his mere presence is enough to take Barry's lingering panic down several notches. "I'm not that easy to kill," he promises quietly.
Barry swallows. Hates to bring it up. Has to. "You died once."
Oliver lifts both eyebrows, an enigmatic innocence descending over his expression. Like he doesn't remember. Or, perhaps – even more impossibly – like he does.
Barry explains, "Vandal Savage, he – we didn't – the first time –"
"What are you talking about?" Oliver asks, not un-gently.
Barry thinks, Don't tell him.
He says instead, "It's a long story."
Oliver's brow furrows. Like he's considering it. Like he wants to. Then he says, "I want to hear it someday."
Barry opens his mouth to say he doesn't have to, really, Barry shouldn't have even offered—the first rule about time travel—but Oliver repeats, "I want to hear it. Someday."
And Barry finds himself saying, "Okay."
Oliver pulls him into the third hug, fully one hour and forty-three minutes since he dropped dead, and Barry holds onto him, memorizing the feel of him, hoping the Speed Force will preserve what life may not. Don't take him away from me, he pleads with the universe. Not him. Please.
Felicity isn't the only person who considers Oliver her rock.
Oliver cuffs him on the back of his shoulder, bracing. "You heading home?" he asks, stepping back.
Barry nods, trying to let go of the lingering warmth and comfort preserved in Oliver's skin. "Yeah, I should – I told Cisco I'd be back soon."
"Safe travels," Oliver wishes. "Godspeed."
Barry steps back, feeling calmness settles in his veins as he doesn't wake up and Oliver doesn't drop dead.
"If you ever need me," he says seriously, "I'll be here."
Oliver can't resist. "In a flash."
Barry actually smiles.
Then he lives up to his namesake and vanishes.
If he hugs Cisco for five minutes we he gets home, Cisco doesn't resist. And Barry says into his shoulder, "I can't lose you."
Cisco promises, "Never."
And his calm, human heart rate against Barry's overpowering speedster pulse is the final proof he needs to know that this is not a dream.