Mourned
Over the next couple days after the funeral, none of them knew what to do. They all didn't know where to go from here. Moving on seemed impossible without Barry in their lives. Iris didn't go back to work. The idea of it was unbearable to her, to sit there at her desk listening to her editor think of new ways to tarnish the Flash's reputation. The rest of Central City didn't even know that he was dead yet. To them, the Flash had simply disappeared and hadn't been seen for several months. Many assumed he was dead, but nobody really knew for sure.
Joe stayed at home with her, not quite ready to go back to work himself. He wasn't sure if he ever would be able to go back there, working every day thinking in the back of his mind that Barry was still in his lab upstairs only to remember painfully that he wasn't. The captain was being so understanding about everything. Usually, their policy was that employees got only three funeral days for lost spouses or children. Technically, Joe wasn't even supposed to get even that, considering Barry wasn't actually his child by blood, but Singh said to hell with the policies. He gave Joe as much time as he needed to mourn and to figure things out, and Joe was extremely grateful for it.
It didn't matter that Barry wasn't his by blood. Joe still grieved as a parent who had lost a child would grieve. Barry was his child. He was his son. Maybe not by blood, but hell if Barry hadn't been his son. He would always be his son, and Joe now felt a void in his heart that felt like it would never be filled again. Nothing and nobody could ever fill that place in his heart that Barry had occupied. It would always be empty now, a gaping wound, ready to bleed at the slightest touch.
The hardest part was thinking back to those last few days when they were waiting for Barry to pass. Joe had never felt more helpless in his life. He had always had a fierce desire to protect his children. He would protect them with his life if he had to, but he couldn't protect Barry. He couldn't cure cancer. He couldn't threaten it with a gun or a badge. He couldn't will it away, as much as he had tried. As much as he had prayed, his prayers had been ignored. He couldn't save Barry.
His desire to protect his children—his remaining child—grew after Barry's death. Joe watched over Iris with a fierce paternal protectiveness that was directly connected to his grief over losing Barry. He wouldn't lose another child. He wouldn't let that happen. He wanted to shield her from the world, lock her away where nothing and no one could ever hurt her. He would protect her from the evils of the world around them.
Unfortunately, he couldn't protect her from the pain of Barry's loss. As much as he wanted to shield her from the grief and the misery of it all, he couldn't. All he could do was support her and try to comfort her to help her through it.
Joe knocked lightly on the door of Iris's room before entering, a bowl of mac n' cheese in hand.
"Hey," he said softly.
She looked over from where she sat at her desk, her laptop in front of her.
"Hey," she answered quietly.
"I brought you some food," Joe said hopefully, "I thought you could use something to eat. You've been in here all day."
"I'm not really hungry," she said quietly, looking away from him.
"Can you please just eat a little?" Joe asked her desperately, "Please, Iris. I know it's hard. I haven't had much of an appetite myself this last week, but it's not healthy to just stop eating."
"I'll eat later," Iris said quietly, her back still turned to him.
Joe sighed and walked over to her desk, setting the bowl firmly down in front of her.
"Please, eat, Iris," he said, his voice quivering slightly.
She looked up at him, not understanding why he suddenly had tears in his eyes.
"Dad?"
Joe held back a sob, covering his mouth with his hand. He shakily lowered it after a moment before speaking.
"Please, Iris. I can't…I can't bear to have another one of my kids waste away in front of me."
Iris's confused expression softened into a look of understanding. She felt a twisting feeling in her stomach upon hearing these words, her mind instantly flashing back to Barry, to seeing him struggle through every meal only to throw it up again. Seeing his ribs protruding out just beneath his skin. The forced tube feedings. The arguments they had with him as they urged him to try, to just try to eat something for them. The guilt they felt when Barry started to cry as he forced himself to eat, fighting down the nausea.
"Okay, dad," she said quickly, picking up the fork, "Okay, I'm eating. Alright? I'm eating."
Joe nodded, looking somewhat satisfied. He brushed a hand over his face, wiping away a stray tear before touching Iris's shoulder gently.
"Thank you," he said before turning to leave the room.
"Dad," Iris said to stop him. Joe turned and looked back at her. "You don't have to worry about me."
Joe's lip quivered for a moment before he said in barely more than a whisper, "That's what Barry always said."
…..
Caitlin didn't normally watch TV, but since Barry had passed away, she found herself suddenly watching it a lot more often. Normally she read books in her free time, but lately she had had a hard time focusing enough to read, her eyes constantly sliding over the page without ever taking in a single word. So instead, she found herself mindlessly flipping through the channels on her television, looking for a decent movie or show to lose herself into for a while, to just forget everything and escape into someone else's life. She finally settled on Grease. It was a classic after all, and no matter how many times she had seen it, it usually managed to keep her attention.
It was working too. Caitlin was finally managing to slip into a state of ease and numbness, but suddenly she was jerked out of it when Olivia Newton John started to sing a certain musical number. Summer Nights.
Summer Lovin, had me a blast
Summer Lovin, happened so fast
Tears instantly sprang to her eyes when she heard it. She quickly grabbed her remote and aimed it at the TV, but she hesitated to hit the off button when John Travolta started to sing.
I met a girl, crazy for me
A tear slid down Caitlin's face as she watched, no longer really even seeing the TV anymore, just listening to the song and thinking back about that night out at the karaoke bar with Barry. For a moment, she thought it even sounded like Barry singing the male part of the song. He had been so happy that night, so care free as she and him let loose and forgot about their troubles for one evening. He had made her feel better. Being around Barry had always made her feel better. He had just had that effect on people. He had even taken care of her that night, helping her home and tucking her into bed, reversing the doctor-patient roles for once. If only she had been able to take care of him. If only she had been able to save him.
The next thing she knew, horrible ugly tears were falling freely down her face and ragged sobs were escaping her throat. She didn't hold back this time. She was alone in her apartment now where no one could see her. She wasn't the professional doctor who had lost a patient now. She was simply a woman who had lost one of her closest friends.
It was like a faucet had been opened, and once the tears had started, Caitlin didn't know how to turn them off. She clutched one of her couch pillows as she sobbed, gasping for air as tears flowed nonstop down her face. She hardly even heard the singing coming from her television anymore. All she could focus on was the fact that she was never going to see Barry again. He was just gone, and he couldn't be there to comfort her now as she cried into the silence of her apartment. He couldn't be there to make her feel better.
…..
Henry sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection of his dresser mirror. He had always stood by the strong belief that things happened for a reason, but now…
There was no reason for this. No greater plan by God or bigger design by the universe that caused this to happen. There was no sense to it. It didn't make sense. Why Barry? What had he done to deserve this? What had Henry done to deserve this? What reason could there be for him to have his son taken from him? What reason could there be for Barry to suffer such an ugly, undignified and painfully slow death? Henry had survived everything that had happened to him in his life on the blind faith that there was a reason for all of it, but now…now he thought that was all bullshit. Now he was just angry.
He glared at his own reflection. He had failed his son. He had failed to save his life, but more than that, he had failed to be there for Barry. He had left him just when they had finally been reunited. Henry could be angry with the universe for taking Barry away from him so soon after they had just been brought together again, but in truth, Henry was angrier with himself. He had missed his chance. He had missed his chance to spend as much time with his son as he could. He had thrown away that opportunity away when he had left town, also hurting Barry in the process. How could he have thought that was the best decision? At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do because he didn't want to hold Barry back, but now that just seemed stupid. He should have cherished every moment with Barry while he could, but instead he wasted the little bit of time they would have had together.
In his life, he had lost his wife, his freedom, and now his son. It was too much. Henry had come to terms with the rest of it, but losing Barry, that was something he was never going to be able to accept. How could any parent ever accept having to bury their own child? Barry had been the one good thing left in his life. He was like a ray of sunlight, casting away all of the dark shadows of the tragedies that they had both suffered. But now that light was extinguished, and the worst part of it was knowing that that light had burnt out in Barry long before his heart had stopped beating.
…..
Caitlin and Cisco both continued to go to STAR Labs every day, although they didn't really know why. There wasn't much there for them anymore. Caitlin's eyes were red and puffy most of the time. She had spent so long holding back her tears the entire time that Barry was sick, trying to remain professional since she was his doctor. Now she was finally letting her tears fall freely, crying on and off throughout the day.
She was growing more and more concerned for Cisco. Surprisingly, he still had yet to shed a tear since Barry's passing. He was unreadable for the most part, not quite sad but also definitely not his usual happy self. He was just numb. He was keeping busy, working almost frantically on his multiple projects as if stopping even for a moment would cause him to think too much.
"Cisco," Caitlin said heavily, walking into his workshop, "What are you even working on?"
"Just some old projects," he said dismissively, "I kind of put them on hold for a while during all the…"
Cisco sighed and cleared his throat.
"How are you doing?" he asked her quietly, "You look tired. You should really go home and get some sleep."
"I can't sleep," Caitlin said, looking at the floor.
"You should try to," Cisco persisted, "You've been practically living here for months. You deserve a rest."
Caitlin swallowed back the lump in her throat.
"I tried," she said quietly, "I tried so hard…to find the cure, but—"
"Caitlin, it wasn't your fault," Cisco said for what must have been the millionth time.
"I promised him, Cisco," she said in a strained voice, "I promised Barry that everything was going to be okay."
"We all know that you can't heal everything. He knew that too. Sometimes things are just out of your hands."
"But we found it," she said earnestly, "Henry found it. He found the cure, found what I had been overlooking for months. If I had just noticed it sooner…"
"Cait, stop," Cisco said firmly, "It's not going to do you any good to play the 'what if' game in your head all the time. You did all that you could. You did everything you could for him."
"Barry," Caitlin said quietly.
Cisco stared at her.
"Barry," she said again, "You never say his name anymore, Cisco. You hardly talk about him at all."
Cisco looked away from her and went back to tinkering with his tech project.
"Cisco, you need to process all of this eventually," she said, "You need to let yourself grieve."
"I don't need to," he said firmly, "I'm fine."
Caitlin stared at him for a moment longer before finally turning and leaving the room. Everybody grieved in their own ways, and right now, denial was Cisco's way of getting through it. Caitlin knew it was only temporary though, and she was going to be there for Cisco when he finally allowed himself to feel everything. She was going to be there for him the same way that he had been there for her, the same way Barry would have been if he were here.
…..
Joe started shaking Iris the moment he heard her whimpering in her sleep. She had been avoiding going to bed lately, but she was so exhausted now that she had accidently fallen asleep on the couch.
"Iris," Joe said, shaking her again, "Iris, wake up."
Iris opened her eyes almost immediately. She sat up quickly, wiping the tears from her face.
"Barry," she said in a strained voice, "Barry, he…"
"He's gone, Iris," Joe said sadly, knowing he was shattering her heart in the process.
He had had these moments too. Moments after waking up where he thought that Barry was still alive, only to become crushed by renewed grief when he remembered that Barry was gone.
Iris let out a shaky breath, new tears spilling from her eyes. She wiped them away quickly.
"Right," she whispered, looking down at her hands in her lap.
Joe wished desperately that he could do more to comfort her. He was just about to put his hand on hers when Iris stood up from the couch and walked over towards the fireplace. Joe watched her sadly from the couch as she stood in front of the mantel of the fireplace where they had several picture frames propped up on display, Barry being in many of the photos. Her eyes settled on one of Barry at the CCPD, his first day on the job. He and her father were standing in his lab, arms slung across each other's shoulders, a wide grin occupying Barry's face.
"Iris, are you okay?" he asked her, staring at her back.
He glanced at the photo she was staring at, feeling his gut wrench at the sight of it. He hadn't realized until recently just how many photos of Barry they had in the house. They were somewhat hard to look at, but neither of them had the heart to take them down. It might be hard to see them every day, but taking them down would feel like they were trying to erase Barry, trying to forget him. Neither of them wanted that.
"No," she answered quietly, "I just keep thinking…"
She sighed and shook her head, still not looking at him.
"What?" Joe asked her, urging her to continue.
Finally she turned and faced him, her eyes glistening with wet tears. There was a hint of anger in her features, masked only by her sorrow.
"I keep thinking about how everything happened," she said in a strained voice, "I still can't help but feel like we just let him die."
"We didn't let him die, Iris," Joe said immediately, "We did everything we could."
"No, we didn't," she said, her voice shaking slightly with emotion, "We should have saved him. We should have saved him that night."
"Iris, what if we had revived him?" Joe said sadly, "What if we had brought him back and somehow convinced him to keep trying, to keep getting treatments? And then what if Barry suffered through more months of unbearably painful treatments only to still not make it? Do you realize how terrible that would have been? How horrible it would have been to put him through all of that, to prolong his suffering only to have him still die months later? I know it was a hard call, but I'm convinced we made the right one."
"I guess we'll never really know how things would have turned out," she said quietly.
"Iris…" Joe said in a pained voice, "It's what Barry wanted."
"And that makes it okay?" she asked through her tears. "The fact that he was so miserable and in so much pain near the end that he wanted to die? That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, it's supposed to make you feel relieved," Joe said sadly, "Barry was relieved from his suffering. He's in a better place now."
"God, I just wish…I wish it had been quick," she cried, "I wish he had died fighting a metahuman or something. Spending months in a bed, vomiting and losing his mind…"
"I know," Joe said quietly.
Iris turned around to stare at the photo of Barry again.
"I didn't think that I was still angry," she said, staring at Barry's face, "But I am. A part of me is still angry with him for giving up."
"Iris…"
"And that makes all this that much harder," she said, her voice cracking. She reached up to her face, and although Joe couldn't see from behind her, he could tell that she was wiping her eyes.
"I want to be angry," she said, "But I can't be because he's dead. How can I be angry with Barry for dying? What's wrong with me?"
"You're not angry with Barry, Iris," Joe said quietly, walking up to where she stood to place a hand on her shoulder, "You're angry, but you're not angry with Barry."
Iris turned around and looked at her dad, her face screwed up against her tears.
"I just miss him so much, dad," she sobbed, crashing into him as she hugged him. Joe wrapped his arms around his daughter, feeling his own tears now sliding down his face.
"I do, too, baby girl," he said softly, "I miss Barry, too."
…..
"I'm so sorry, Nora," Henry said, stooped in front of his wife's gravestone.
It was his first time coming here since the funeral. The flowers on Barry's grave were still fresh. Henry wondered absently who was maintaining them. Probably Joe or Iris or somebody else from Team Flash.
"I couldn't save him," he choked, "I couldn't save our little boy."
He brushed a tear from his face and stood looking down at the two gravestones in front of him. It felt too real being here, seeing Barry's name etched into the headstone, standing in the place where his son was buried six feet below where he stood. Henry felt guilty that it had taken him this long to come here. He had had a hard time leaving his apartment lately, not really having any place that he wanted to go. The Wests had invited him over for dinner with them several times, but he always declined. When Henry finally did decide to leave the apartment, he didn't know where to go. He didn't feel up for any social interactions. There was only one person that he wanted to talk to, but he couldn't. Barry was dead.
"I'm sorry, Barry," he choked, looking down at Barry's grave, "You didn't get the time with me that you deserved. I'm so sorry I left."
Tears flowed down his face as he stared at the headstone. At least Barry was with his mother now. He didn't get nearly enough time with either of his parents in his life, but at least in death, they were together. Henry found himself thinking that maybe Barry was the lucky one. At least he wasn't alone like Henry was now.
Henry would give anything to trade places with him though. Barry would have had a whole life ahead of him. He had so many things left for him to do, so many years left to live through. Henry had seen his better days, and he didn't see how there could possibly be many more to come without his family in his life anymore. He would give anything to be the one buried next to Nora right now. Anything, if it meant his son could live.
…
The house was quiet and dark without Barry in it. When Barry had come to live with them as a kid, the house had suddenly been filled with this indescribable joy and light, but now that light had been extinguished, leaving behind a heavy dark silence in its wake. Barry's absence in the house was almost palpable. It weighed heavily on them in every moment they spent there.
It wasn't just the photos or the memories of Barry that haunted the West house. It was the small things he had left behind. His shampoo that still sat on the shelf in the shower, Barry's cereal in the pantry that only he had liked to eat, the scorch marks that were still on the kitchen ceiling from one of Barry's crazier high school experiments gone wrong. They still got mail for Barry all the time. Multiple science magazine subscriptions and junk mail addressed with his name arrived in their mailbox every day. It was always a punch to the gut just to get the mail now.
Everywhere they looked, they were reminded of Barry.
Neither of them ever sat on the left side of the couch. That had been where Barry always sat. Now the spot always remained empty, an aching reminder of Barry's absence. The watch list on their Netflix account was full of Barry's science documentaries that he had been saving for later. They didn't have the heart to delete them, even though Barry would never get the chance to watch them now. In fact, they didn't have the heart to get rid of anything that reminded them of Barry.
Joe had even caught Iris sitting at the kitchen counter one day, staring at an old grocery list that was clearly written in Barry's handwriting. Things that normally seemed meaningless and mundane now held meaning for them, because they came from Barry. They were the things he had left behind.
Joe was guilty of it too. He used the same mug for his coffee every morning. Really, there was nothing special about it. It was just a simple mug, boring, with hardly any sort of design on it. There was a chip on the rim of it, and this was what made it so special. Barry had dropped it one night when he was trying to help out with the dishes. Barry really had always been such a klutz when it came to house chores, and the sight of the chipped mug made Joe smile in amusement every time he looked at it. It wasn't even a meaningful memory. Barry had simply picked the mug back up, declared that it was still useable and washed it before returning it to the shelf. That had been it. Yet Joe cherished that mug now as if the memory of that random moment with Barry had so much more meaning.
Iris found herself constantly pulling out her cellphone to dial Barry's number. A small part of her still thought he might answer one of these times, even though she knew that was impossible. She listened to his voicemail recording over and over again, letting the sound of Barry's voice both put her at ease and shatter her heart at the same time. It felt good to hear his voice, as painful as it was. Iris was worried that with time she would start to forget what it sounded like. The idea of it seemed impossible to her, but it was one of her biggest fears. Forgetting Barry.
Her memory of him already felt like it was tainted, her mental images of Barry blurring with images of how he had looked when he had died, so frail and sickly and un-Barry-like. When she pictured him in her head now, she saw both the sick version of him and the healthy, happy person that the cancer had destroyed. Iris would lay away at night, picturing Barry's face in her mind, remembering every detail of it. The one part she could never remember quite right were his eyes. She couldn't remember how Barry had looked when he still had light in his eyes. All she could remember now was seeing the pain in them, the misery he had suffered through because of his illness. The cancer had taken so much from all of them. It had taken him away from her, and now still, it was tarnishing her memory of him.
Iris found herself leaving the house to go for walks often. It felt strange, walking through the suburban parts of Central City. There was something that felt so wrong about it.
The sun kept on shining. The birds kept on singing. People went on about their days, walking by, carefree and unaffected. Everything still seemed the same, and yet it was all so different now.
She didn't understand how the rest of the world kept going, continued on without Barry in it. How could everyone just go on about their lives when Barry was dead? How did the world keep on turning without him in it? Days went by and turned into weeks. Seasons changed. The snow on the ground melted and winter slowly turned into spring.
Spring had always been Barry's favorite time of year. He had always said that he loved watching things come back to life, like they were coming back from the dead, refreshed with new life. Barry hadn't survived through the winter to see it though. He had died before he could watch things go from dreary gray to fresh, lively green again. Now, everything was coming back to life around them, all except for Barry.
…..
"I can't wait any longer, Joe. I just want this to be over with."
Barry's hollow eyes gazed up at him, tears escaping them to slide down his pale face.
"I just want to know that I have your blessing first."
"Of course, Bar," Joe choked, "Whatever you need. If you're ready to let go…it's okay. You—You can let go now, Barry."
"Thank you," Barry cried, his voice filled with gratitude, as if this was the permission he had been waiting for all along, "Thank you, Joe. I love you."
Joe leaned forward and kissed Barry's forehead, sniffling as he tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. When he pulled back again, Barry's eyes were closed, his face tearstained but peaceful.
"I love you too, Barry," he whispered.
Joe then pulled out his gun from the holster on his hip. He cocked it back, hearing the click of a bullet shifting into the chamber before placing the end of the barrel to Barry's forehead. His finger found the trigger and squeezed.
BANG!
Joe shot upright in bed with a gasp. He was disoriented at first when his eyes met the darkness of his bedroom. He was covered in a sheer layer of sweat. Joe flicked on the lamp that was next to his bed. He groaned as he rubbed his eyes, brushing away the tears on his face in the process. He fell back against the pillows with a sigh. There was no way he was going to get back to sleep after this.
It was the third night in a row that this had happened. He didn't know what it meant. Was it just his guilt? Were the dreams manifesting from his feelings of guilt about how things had happened? Were they happening because he felt as if he had killed Barry by allowing him to die? He had been the one who gave Barry his blessing after all. He was the one who told Barry to let go. That was on him and him alone.
Joe was distracted from his thoughts when he heard a sound come from downstairs. It was a dull hum, almost a soft murmuring sound as if someone was talking, but Joe couldn't distinguish any words from it, just a wordless voice. And then he heard what was unmistakably a laugh. Joe felt his stomach clench as his blood ran cold. That was Barry's laugh.
Shakily, Joe sat back up in bed and swung his legs over the edge, rising quickly and moving over to the door of his bedroom. He thought that maybe he had imagined it, but then he heard it again. A muffled voice reached his ears through the closed door. As Joe opened the door, the sound grew louder, and it was unmistakably Barry's voice that he was hearing. He stepped outside of his room into the dark hallway.
"Joe, you're doing it wrong," he heard Barry's voice say.
Joe froze for a moment before quickly heading for the stairs. A soft light was coming from downstairs, which also seemed to be where the voice was coming from. Joe descended the steps quickly.
When Joe reached the landing halfway down the stairs, he found the source of the sound. Looking down into the living room, he could see the TV screen that was illuminating the otherwise dark room. Joe's heart clenched when he saw Barry's image appear on the screen.
"Joe, this is all wrong," Barry laughed, reaching up towards the Christmas tree to remove an ornament that Joe had just placed, "This one is Iris's favorite. It always has to go to the front of the tree."
Joe slowly stepped down the stairs, staring at the screen as he moved closer to the TV. His own voice suddenly retorted.
"Well how am I supposed to know that?" he asked with a laugh as Barry rehung the ornament so that it was front and center on the tree.
"I only tell you guys every year," Iris's voice suddenly said. She must have been the one filming the two of them.
"And we all know what happens if the princess doesn't get her way," Barry said, laughing as he grabbed another ornament from the box to hang up.
"Barry Allen, you take that back," Iris's voice said reproachfully.
Barry just laughed and stuck his tongue out at her, which earned him a light smack on the arm as Iris's hand came into view on the screen to hit him.
"Ow," he said dramatically, "How am I supposed to hang these ornaments with an injured arm?"
"Oh, stop being such a baby," Iris laughed.
"Why don't you help us?" Barry asked her, still rubbing his arm but smiling at the same time, "Instead of standing there filming us and hitting me."
"I'm making the eggnog," Iris told him, "That's how this always goes. I make the eggnog while you and my dad decorate the tree. And after this you get to hang up the Christmas lights outside."
Barry rolled his eyes, but smiled at her as he handed Joe another ornament.
"I swear you're like some kind of work tyrant, Iris," he said with a laugh. Iris giggled.
"But you love me anyways," she teased.
Joe smiled knowingly at the TV screen as he watched Barry's face turn bright right red at these words. He could see himself on the screen giving Barry the same knowing smirk as he amusedly watched the boy struggle to maintain his grasp on the ornament he was holding.
Joe felt tears sliding down his face as he watched the happy memory unfold on the TV screen before him. His attention was pulled away from the screen, however, when he heard a sniffle come from the couch down below. That was when he noticed Iris sitting there, crying softly as she watched the family video on the TV screen in front of her. Joe descended down the rest of the stairs to move closer towards the couch where she was sitting.
"Iris," he said softly.
Iris jumped and turned around to look at him. There were multiple tissues on the table in front of her, and fresh tears were streaming down her face.
"Dad," she said, her eyes going wide, "I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd be up right now."
She quickly reached for the remote to turn the TV off.
"Don't," he said in a strained voice. He wiped a few tears from his face and paused for a moment before saying, "Leave it on."
She gave him an unsure look but set the remote back down nonetheless. The video continued to play in the background as the two of them looked at each other.
"Mind if I join you?" Joe asked his daughter.
"I'd like that," Iris said, sniffing and wiping her eyes.
Joe sat down next to her on the couch, both of them wordlessly returning their attention back to the screen. Joe and Barry were arguing about whether they should put an angel or a star on top of the tree. Barry had always wanted to put a star on top, while Joe always pushed for the angel. Iris was usually the one who decided it once and for all though.
Now, Joe would have let Barry do whatever he wanted to their Christmas tree this year if he were still here. They hadn't really celebrated this last Christmas. Barry had been sick and going through treatment at the time, so they had ignored the holiday entirely. They had tried to celebrate a little bit at STAR Labs, but Barry had been so sick and exhausted that day that it hadn't been much of a celebration.
Joe and Iris both laughed and cried as they watched the rest of the video together. And for a moment, just a moment, it felt like the left side of the couch wasn't so empty. For a moment, it felt like Barry was sitting right there watching it with them.
…..
Alright, just one more chapter after this, I think. Central City still needs answers about what happened to Flash.
Please leave a quick review for me because I feel as though I'm grieving right along with the characters in this story as I'm writing it, and it would be nice to know I'm not alone in this feeling. Wow, that's so dramatic. Sorry.