beta'd by Quartic Moose. Again, this was written way before the show came out.

The medical field is not my area of expertise, so if you notice an inaccuracy don't hesitate in telling me. I may or may not make the change (I am taking some liberties year with the physical laws), but I at least want to know if and where I am being ridiculous.

Chapter 2: Metabolism

Barry felt like he was drifting. In a few ways, it was like drifting out of a dream. He couldn't quite remember how he fell asleep, and he was too comfortable to care. Later, once he actually felt like thinking, Barry would compare it to a Saturday morning, when he's gotten enough sleep but still doesn't want to get out of bed. Considering what he would learn of his situation, it'd seem an apt analogy.

The feeling also mirrored a more physical interpretation of 'drifting.' When one wakes up from a dream, one feels the bed and pillow beneath and the sheets above. Owning a particularly comfortable bed set only contributes to the apathy. However, Barry did not feel that laziness or even some of the more unexpected-yet-plausible feelings one could have, such as the stiffness, rigidity, and ache that accompanied falling asleep at a desk. There was a slight sensation of… something along his skin, but his brain was too muddled to understand it. Moreover, he felt nothing else. He was detached from the solid, physical world. Drifting.

After a while, habit kicked in, and he attempted to adjust himself in what he hoped was his bed. He had fought against daylight too often for the fact that he wasn't even physically uncomfortable, or physically anything for that matter, to actually stop him from wrestling into the covers. Unfortunately, his body didn't seem to respond. That was somehow more disconcerting than the fact he couldn't feel or hear anything.

Wait. Barry could feel a slight movement; his head moved a couple degrees. It wasn't much, but it was a sign. An eternity passed.

The mental fog began to clear. Barry decided that he should actually wake up. He didn't feel tired, and without a comfortable bed there was no point in pretending to be asleep. The "without a comfortable bed" point was making itself especially known as feeling returned to his limbs. Fortunately, he had not fallen asleep on a desk. Unfortunately, he did not remember his bed being this stiff, and he felt several cricks and knots start calling for his attention. He could hear a beeping, though it still seemed far-off. Another feeling lingered at the back of his consciousness, but Barry's intuition said that it wasn't going to be pleasant, either. He let it linger where it was rather than draw attention to it.

Now that Barry had decided to actually think, he let the memories from the last few days trickle back in. He had come back from the case in Starling City, where he'd had a chance to meet and help the Hood - or was it now the Arrow? (Either way, Barry made a note to continue the mental celebration once he had more energy.) Next he had traveled to S.T.A.R. Labs only to miss the cutoff to see the particle accelerator open in person. Disappointment pulsed through his head. He had really been looking forward to Central City getting its own entry into particle physics. Barry found it sad that he had not even been surprised at his own lateness. Maybe if he stopped trying so desperately to be on time, he actually would be, in a weird corollary of Murphy's Law. Finally, Barry remembered Linda Park's announcement and the explosion he saw from his lab in the downtown police station.

The events that unfolded next didn't trickle in; instead they slammed against Barry like a tsunami. The lights going out, the floating chemicals, and the final lightning strike entered Barry Allen's brain all at once. If he had not been feeling so sluggish, Barry would have jumped out of bed right then and there. Still, with the memories came a flood of sensation throughout his body. All the cricks that had asked for his attention earlier suddenly stopped asking politely. The beeping, which earlier had been a pleasant reminder that he could actually hear, became loud and obnoxious. Barry's eyes snapped open.

He was confronted with an amazing amount of white in contrast to the total blackness he had seen before. White walls, floors, and ceilings surrounded him. White sheets and clothes he didn't recognize covered him. As Barry looked around, the only dashes of color he could find were the scrubs of what he assumed were nurses and doctors working around him and the readouts of the various machines that were attached to him.

Unfortunately, whatever thoughts Barry had had about the lightning strike or the hospital setting found themselves pushed to the side as the feeling which had previously only lingered at the back of Barry's mind rushed forward. At full intensity, he could finally identify it: hunger. Or at this level, Barry was inclined to ignore those who would call him melodramatic and label it starvation. He wondered why his stomach wasn't growling loud enough for the whole city to hear or, for that matter, at all.

Barry opened his mouth to beg for food or, as he would later put it, notify the doctors of the situation. That is when he discovered his mouth was dry; what started out as words in his head turned into hacking noises.

Somebody who Barry assumed was a nurse ran off and returned with water. She didn't hand it over. The oldest of the medical staff started speaking. "Mr. Allen, you have been in a coma for ten months. In that time, we have provided your body nutrients through IV, so your digestive system has shut down. Sip. Try not to swallow too much."

Barry wanted to scream at the man that he obviously hadn't put enough nutrients in the solution, but he had to satisfy himself with glaring. The man kept a straight face but took a step backwards as the nurse handed Barry the cup. Barry took a second to redirect his anger at the paper and water in his hand before taking a sip. It felt marvelous against his tongue and somewhat sweet. He glanced back at the older man in confusion. "It's sugar water to re-habituate your stomach to glucose." Barry let the water slide down his throat.

At first, nothing. Then, his stomach lurched.

Barry's eyes bulged, and he threw his torso forward before collapsing back on the bed. Waves of nausea radiated out from his abdomen.

"You're lucky your stomach doesn't have anything in it for you to throw up." Barry resumed his glare. He didn't feel lucky. The older man's face softened. "You're lucky to be alive at all, and your recovery so far has been miraculous. You survived not only a lightning strike but also severe chemical burns." The man's face hardened again. "Don't push yourself."

Barry shrugged, taking a deep breath. His throat didn't feel normal by far, but it felt better. He carefully formed the words in his brain and then his mouth. "When can I eat?" It took him forever to speak, and he still sounded hoarser than he believed possible.

The old man's eyebrows pushed together. He stood still for a moment, before hesitantly replying, "Take a sip every half-hour for the rest of the day, then we will see. Remember: only sip." The older man and the nurse quickly left the ward.

Barry pushed his head into the hospital pillow. Well, that was a strange experience. Though Barry couldn't say he had any previous experience with being comatose, personally or otherwise, the coma bit wasn't all that surprising. While most people walk away from getting struck by lightning, they still dealt with consequences. Thinking back to the chemicals on the rack, Barry knew that they weren't harmless either. In fact, Barry and Julio had labeled a number of them precisely because they shouldn't be mixed. Barry assumed that after being thrown in that direction by the lightning bolt the "definition of dangerous" mixture had covered him. How was he even currently awake?

But, the coma itself wasn't the strange experience. In fact, it was more of a non-experience. Waking up from a coma and being told he was missing almost a year of his life, those were experiences he would never forget. Having a stomach and a tongue at war with each other… Barry glanced around the room looking for a clock and discovered it was 2 PM… for an entire afternoon and evening, he would remember that for the rest of his life.

Barry's stomach finally stopped complaining with each sip at six PM, though he did not dare drink more than the doctor recommended, even if his stomach had started growling. He'd learned his lesson three hours earlier when he had finally given into temptation and had let more than a sip slide into his mouth. It still wasn't much, weighing in at approximately four sips at most. Unfortunately, it was also enough to upset his stomach. Barry faugh to keep it in all through the next half hour, at which point the cup sat on the side table untouched.

Barry had trouble getting to sleep that night. His body still felt like he needed it, and throughout the night he slipped in and out of consciousness. Twice he had to take a sip a little late because he suddenly found his eyes blinking open to discover that it was five minutes past the half hour, which left him slightly disappointed at both being awake and missing the opportunity to drink. Unfortunately, whenever he got close to entering a deeper sleep, his hunger would gnaw at the back of his mind, pushing him awake. The hours dragged on until, at two in the morning, he finally fell truly and fully asleep.

The next morning, the older man, Dr. Engels, arrived shortly after Barry woke up asked how he was doing. He spoke slower than he had the previous night. Barry shrugged. "Starving, but other than that fine." He hadn't meant for it to come off so sarcastic, but he didn't feel bad about it either. Barry's stomach growled, and he cringed.

"Sounds like your stomach's awake." Dr. Engels gave a small laugh. "If you didn't feel nauseous last time you took a sip, try drinking the rest of the sugar water," Dr. Engels gestured towards the paper cup.

Barry's hand darted out to the cup and quickly put it to his lips, chugging down what was left over. Again, the sweetness ran over his tongue like a symphony, and while the sensation in his stomach was not entirely pleasant, it wasn't entirely bad either. He could ignore it. After finishing off the cup, which was not that big anyways, Barry took a deep breath. "Thanks."

Dr. Engels smiled. "I was starting to worry that I'd have to tell you that you couldn't have breakfast, and then you'd bite my head off." He gave a beckoning gesture towards the hallway. Somebody entered with a tray full of breakfast options including, but not limited to, several cereals, a bowl of fruit, a bagel, and a scone. It didn't look like the highest quality food on the market, but it was food, so Barry wouldn't complain. "There's probably more than you can eat, but continue until you are full."

Barry furrowed his eyebrows at the doctor, while he peeled a banana. "You want to see how much I will eat?"

"Your case is not exactly normal," Dr. Engels nodded. "We double checked the IV bags we had been giving you. They should have provided more than enough nutrients for you, especially considering that your body was almost completely shut down for the first four months." The doctor frowned. "I'm partly worried that you've lost the ability to feel full, and that this is all a trick of your brain chemistry. But, to tell the truth, I have no idea why you are hungry. Let's hope I'm wrong."

It took a moment for the idea to sink in. Barry stopped chewing for a moment. The idea of feeling like this constantly did not sit well with him. Still, Barry mused, the only way to find out whether he could get full was to eat, so he resumed eating. Finishing the banana, Barry moved to one of the cereals. It contained more sugar than he typically would have chosen, but right now it sounded like a good choice. He ate through that and moved to the bagel. In the end, Barry did not finish off all the food in front of him, but he consumed more than he would have during a normal breakfast or for that matter five breakfasts. "I'm full."

He glanced at Dr. Engels, who had wide eyes and an open mouth. The words "How are you not sick?" drifted out of the doctor's mouth. Barry fidgeted, carrying the same exact question. The doctor straightened. "I want to keep you here for a couple days under observation. If you notice anything else strange, don't hesitate to tell me."

At that moment Barry decided not to ask why the doctor was talking so slowly. Other than the fact that he managed to eat more than he thought possible, Barry now felt fine, and he didn't want to do anything to attract Dr. Engel's medical eye more than he already had. Staying at the hospital longer than necessary was not on Barry's wish list. He wanted to get back to work or at least do something. Some part of him also just wanted to move and have the freedom to move where he pleased. Instead Barry asked, "Do you know if I'll get any visitors today? If I have another day staring at the wall, I'll go insane."

"Well, your family has been informed, and you received plenty of visitors while you were in a coma. I bet some of them will be rushing over to see you."

Barry blinked. "By family do you mean the Wests or the Allens?"

"I believe both." Dr. Engels started to leave.

As the doctor approached the door, Barry yelled out, "Sorry for yesterday," He paused. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

Looking at what little food remained, the doctor laughed. "I'd imagine."