Constant Static
By: Rhuben
Summary – Barry shook one leg. Shook the other. Got up to pace. Walked quick circles around the small cell. Sat back down. Bounced his knees. Nothing would work. Trapped in Iron Heights, all he wanted to do was run.
All Barry knew how to do in life was run. Run from bullies, run from rumors, run from the expectation that he would end up just like his father.
Yet, here he was. In Iron Heights. In the same jail cell his father used to be in.
Henry Allen Was Here.
He had stared at the scrawling since he had been shoved into the cell. It was jarring at first. It made everything real. He was in prison. He was in Iron Heights.
There were days where he wondered what it was like to be behind bars. He heard stories. He had nightmares of it. It wasn't anything he could have ever dreamt.
It was louder. It was smellier. Dirtier. Scarier.
Barry was on that side now. It was his reality.
And he couldn't understand it.
How could his dad have ever gotten through it all and still be as optimistic as he was? There was no chance of parole or ever seeing the outside of the four walls. Still, he insisted that Barry should move on with his life. Promised that he was safe behind bars. Reassured that everything was going to be ok.
Only it wasn't.
In seven days, Barry had only a glimpse of what it was like on the inside. Of what it was like to be isolated from the people he truly loved and cared about. Every day he was threatened for looking at someone the wrong way. He had food stolen off of his tray because he wouldn't fight back. Inmates rummaged through his belongings to see what kind of person he was; someone who took everything that came to him, or someone who fought back.
Barry didn't know what to do. Or who to be. Was he to be Barry Allen or the Flash? Keep to himself as he waited for visitation or work the system to make sure he made it through another day?
What was the answer?
Eobard Thawne was ready to fulfill his plan: give Barry his abilities, and get back home. Never did he say a word about telling the truth regarding his mother's murder. Only in the event of his death would he come clean. For a while, it looked like it would never have come. It looked like his dad would stay in Iron Heights for the rest of his life.
Clifford DeVoe was more intelligent. He was better. He had all of his bases covered. Everything that occurred between the two of them since he had emerged from the Speed Force was planned out. Samuroid. The metas on the bus. Framing him for murder. And again, it looked like there was no way the truth would ever come out.
So here Barry sat, scratching a tally mark into the wall with each day that passed. So Was Barry…VI.
"So was Barry," Barry whispered, a small smile coming to his face. If anyone thought he was ashamed of his father, they would know for fact that he wasn't. Like father, like son: if Henry would be exonerated, then so would he. He just had to believe it to be true. He had a wife to get back to, and friends, and a city.
His knees started bouncing. Slow at first, and then faster as the seconds passed. While he hadn't moved from his bed since being put into Iron Heights, his legs were constantly shaking. He hadn't being still. He couldn't be still. His legs were building up too much unspent energy.
Too much static.
Barry shook one leg. Shook the other. Got up to pace. Walked quick circles around the small cell. Sat back down. Bounced his knees. Nothing would work. Too much electricity was building up in his legs, inside of him. He used to relish in that feeling; in knowing that at any second he could propel himself forward and run anywhere whenever he wanted as fast as he could.
With the street blurring around him, the sound of air whistling past his ears, electricity flowing through his body, it was his sanctuary. Nothing else mattered. It was just him in his own world. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was a place where no one could reach him. For a brief moment (to everyone else) he could shut off his mind and just let everything go.
He couldn't let this go. Not the shouts. The screams. The threats. The falling flaming pieces of toilet paper. The fist fights. The chaos. It was everywhere he went. Even getting the chance to breathe in the fresh air outside, it was crowded with people. People marking their territories. People getting debt payments. People waiting out their time.
Barry took the time to walk. Faster than he could behind the four walls of his cell. In one corner, he could see the drive up to the main building. The same drive he had walked up numerous times when visiting his dad. The same path he wondered he'd get a glimpse of Iris as she came to visit him. In another, a swatch of green grass stretched in front of him. He ran the streets of Central City day in and day out, but longed for an expanse of foliage – nothing would be in his way. Nothing would stop him. The final two corners looked inwards on Iron Heights, reminding him exactly where he was, and where he was looking to stay indefinitely.
Barry couldn't take it anymore. The noise was just too much! He zipped out of his cell and around the General Population housing unit. He extinguished any flames. Stopped the beatings. Put an end to the shouts. Ceased the god damn noise.
Dropping back down on to his bed, he sighed in relief. That was better. It wasn't much, but it was better. He was so used to helping the whole city, he could only help himself now. And what he needed in the moment was some quiet. But it was only a brief moment of reprieve before it came back.
The static.
His knees bounced again.
Barry vibrated his fingers, hoping to ease the feeling. The vibrations moved through the metal frame of the bed, to the floor, ticking the bottoms of his feet. He stopped. That only made him want to run more. And keep running.
Turning back to the wall, he lifted a rapidly twitching finger and drew another tally mark.
So Was Barry…VII
Seven days had passed.
All he wanted to do was stretch his legs.
All he wanted to do was run.
He didn't know how to be "just Barry Allen" anymore.
A/N: I've noticed Barry bouncing his knees a lot since he got put into Iron Heights. In my other flash fics, I always wrote it as the longer he couldn't run to get rid of the excess energy, the more it built up in him uncomfortably. Kind of like how weird your hand feels after you get a big shock by someone in the winter, or even electrocuted a little bit.
What do you guys think? Hope you enjoyed it.
-Rhuben