Someone to Come Home to
A WestAllen Fic
What he remembers from those early days - when he'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd never see his mother again, and that he'd only see his father in cuffs - is anger. Anger so red and blinding that it burned inside of him. It hurt. It hurt that his parents were gone, one irretrievably, and the other one almost so. It hurt that no one believed him about what had happened. It hurt that he couldn't even explain to himself what had happened. The hurt boiled, frothed, and one day he was sure, he would burst.
He could feel the Barry Allen that he was before his mother died slipping away. And if it hadn't been for the West home, he would never have become the Barry Allen that he is now.
Of course, he couldn't see that then. Not when his family had been destroyed, and his understanding of the world had been shattered. But even though his vision was blurred with red hot hurt, his anger tearing him inside out, there was that little pinprick of light, the thought that at least he would be with his best friend.
Iris had been making her way down the stairs when Joe opened the door to their home. Barry had hesitated. He hadn't taken a step. It had felt too final. It meant there would be nothing to go back to. But then Iris had held out her hand, with that small, reassuring smile that started at the corner of her mouth, the one he'd seen countless times after he had taken on yet another bully. And that smile pulled him in through the doorway.
The first anniversary of her death is harder than he thought it would be. He had been preparing himself for it, trying to rally his heart and his mind, make them march to a sane rhythm. But as the day progresses he feels his chest getting tighter and tighter, the air getting stuck somewhere deep in his throat.
It's like a nightmare, watching his classmates at school shout and laugh and run around, living dizzying lives that he cannot possibly comprehend. He sits on the swings at lunch, watching them, his forehead knotting at the strangeness that he'd been one of them only a year before.
Then, suddenly, Iris is standing in front of him.
"Let's go," she says.
"Where?" He's weary. She's got that determined look on her face.
"Home, of course."
"But - school," he says.
Iris rolls her eyes. "I know that." She tugs at his arm, pulling him out of the swing and strides across the grounds. And he follows. He always does.
"You mean bunk?" His voice goes high in disbelief.
She turns to give him a dazzling smile. "Of course."
The house is quiet when they turn the key, and Barry can almost hear it hum in disapproval. He follows Iris into the kitchen where she sets her bag down, and begins to rummage in the fridge. She pulls out vegetables, a plate of leftover chicken, the container of fruit salad. Then she gets out a loaf of bread that they'd helped Joe bake over the weekend.
"Well, aren't you gonna help?" she asks, as she starts cutting out thick, generous slices of the bread.
"What are you doing?" Barry feels dazed, a bit stupid, but he figures he can be excused. He's still reeling from his first brush with rebellion.
"We're going to have a picnic," she announces. And she gives him her big smile again.
He shakes his head and grabs two cans of soda. He knows that when Iris makes up her mind the only thing to do is to make up your mind along with her.
They pile their food on a tray, and go upstairs. Iris kicks open the door to her bedroom.
"You know we're not allowed to eat in our rooms," he says. Although,now that they've bunked school, eating in her room seems to pale in comparison.
"But we're not going to eat in my room," says Iris.
Barry frowns, waiting for an explanation. He watches as she sets her tray down, and opens her windows, the ones that look out over the backyard. She climbs out onto the ledge, and that's when it clicks. She crawls out onto the flat bit of roof adjacent to her window, then turns, grinning at him triumphantly. She sticks her hands out for her tray. Barry passes it to her, shaking his head, and then passes his, too.
It's only when he crawls out that he realizes just how high up they are. The branches from the pine standing near the deck are so close he can reach out his hand and brush it. Even the sky looks close enough to touch.
Iris hands him his tray, and they sit there munching on their feast, and looking out over the world. He looks at Iris, her smile even more brilliant in the sunlight, clouds trailing over her head, and he does something he didn't think he would be able to that day. He smiles.
College brings with it many firsts, the main one being that he and Iris won't be sharing their morning commute. He's opted for the best CSI course that wouldn't take him too far away from his father. Iris's chosen passion had always been journalism, and her needs have led her just out of town. It's just as well. They can't always be joined at the hip.
And it is exactly what makes these breaks all the more appealing. This will be the first time that he'll be seeing Iris in over a month. That's the upside. The downside is it's also the first time he'll be seeing her after her breakup with her highschool sweetheart and long-time boyfriend. She'd sounded heartbroken over the phone, which had slightly alarmed Barry at first. She's always been indomitable Iris to him: bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and more than willing to take on the world.
But it doesn't matter. She's his closest friend, and his life will always have a spot for her no matter what state she is in.
When he and Joe go to pick her up from the station, she greets them with that usual, extraordinary smile of hers. It always hits him like this, during these mini-reunions, just how much he misses her, and he pulls her into a long hug that leaves him even more breathless than he is.
It's hard to tell that she is heart-broken. The car is full of chatter on the ride home, and they are full of laughter, light with the joy of being together again. It is hard to tell that she is heart-broken. But not impossible. There are moments when her brow furrows without her control, moments when her eyes stray to some invisible spot in the distance.
Dinner is the same, with the delight on the surface, and the discordance underneath. Again, it's subtle, but they're Barry and Joe, after all. She brushes aside Joe's questions, though, says she doesn't want to talk about it, and so they let it go.
But Barry can't. He doesn't like seeing her say goodnight, knowing that there is pain underneath, doesn't like seeing her disappear into her room to be alone.
It only takes him about half an hour to make a decision. Long enough for Joe to start snoring loudly, and maybe long enough for Iris to have fallen asleep as well. Except he's pretty sure she hasn't. He knocks on her door and she answers immediately.
"What is it, Barry?" She looks worried.
"I knew you couldn't sleep."
She shrugs.
"Wanna go for a ride?"
Her brow furrows. "Now?"
"Why not?"
She stares at him, and then her brow smooths. "Ok."
Barry grins at her.
Iris shrugs into a jacket, and they both rush downstairs, as if their time is suddenly limited. Barry grabs the car keys and they burst out into the night, laughing under their breath. They climb in, car doors slamming closed one after the other, and Barry sticks the key in the ignition.
Iris turns to him. "Mama Brown's?"
"Mama Brown's."
The car rumbles into the night. Mama Brown's is their best kept secret for late night pancake feasts. They'd stumbled across it on a trip to their first concert, or what would have been their first concert if they hadn't gotten hopelessly lost and become hopelessly late. Their pancakes had been the gooey, chocolate-chipped consolation they needed that night.
It's just out of central city, a good half an hour away, so Barry blasts the radio, finding the station with the most head-bashing songs, and soon he and Iris are singing loudly, trying to out do each other in out-of-tune singing, and make each other collapse with hysterical sniggering. It's as he's choking with laughter, tears running out of his eyes, watching Iris's eyes crinkle up in joy, her black hair gleaming under the passing streetlights, that he realises it. That home can be a person, too, and that she's been his far longer than he has realised. His laughter quiets and he can't help but stare, heavy and light with the truth that's snuck into his head.
After that, the night is a happy blur. He remembers the warm, yellow lighting of the diner, the blue tablecloth familiar under his fingertips, Iris sitting across from him, grinning goofily with a chocolate chip stuck between her teeth. The jukebox playing in the corner. His giddiness making him brave enough to ask her for a dance. Them twirling through the aisle, laughing, and the cook and the waitress joining in. They are given chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies to take home, and when they leave they're buzzing on sugar and laughter, and Barry's head feels like it's full of shooting stars.
Maybe that explains why he doesn't see the deer dash out onto the street. He brakes, just as Iris yells out, and swerves.
His ears are ringing after the crash. He turns to Iris who seems to be ok, except for the look of complete stupefaction on her face. They sit in silence for a minute, until smoke starts seeping out of the now crumpled bonnet.
"Joe's gonna kill us," Barry proclaims mournfully, and Iris nods.
Minutes later, the cops arrive, and they're sitting on the curb, Barry fighting down a bubble of hysteria, being interrogated by a very irate officer who most definitely knows Joe. Barry's trying to avoid Iris's gaze because he knows she'll set him off properly. His voice trembles as he answers, and he can hear Iris's snigger, and he barely manages to control himself.
The officer flips his notebook closed and walks away. "Stupid kids," he mutters.
And that's all it takes. They both crumble as one, gasping with laughter, hilarity screwing up their faces so that they can barely see one another, shoulders bumping against each other, and Barry decides that falling in love with your best friend is not such a bad thing.
Thanks for reading. Review are loved :)
