The fire, for an instant, was worse than the lingering pain of the clawmarks. It was a rushing pain that Barry could hear, throbbing through his ears, funneling outward through his chest—a singularity where the emblem still clung to his suit. The emblem was a reminder that he had perhaps once been something useful, a reminder that he'd once had room to stretch his legs more than a few paces.
He emerged gasping, his heart stuttering in its attempt to find a normal rhythm, his senses swimming. Blearily, he looked around. He didn't remember Hunter arriving; he didn't remember what he had been doing before Hunter arrived; for a moment, he didn't even remember why his chest ached so badly.
"Get up," Hunter growled. He paused, kicked Barry in the gut. "Up, Flash."
"He can't," came a woman's voice. "Don't you see? Give him a chance to catch his breath."
Frost. Barry blinked, coming back to his senses. He'd been talking to Frost about—about—
"I said get up." Barry gagged with a fresh kick, and the puncture point of the most recent speed extraction throbbed. Hunter still held the gun, but he had not yet injected himself. Something was off. Something was wrong.
"Or what?" Barry wheezed. It was a miracle Hunter heard him at all, with how breathy his voice had become. "Finally going to kill me?"
Suddenly Hunter was inches from him, claws curling into the fabric of his suit. "Don't think I won't."
It struck Barry, then, how much time had passed since Hunter's last visit. How much time he'd been lying in his cell, despondent. How long he'd been talking, uninterrupted, to Frost.
"You failed," he said. "Dante wasn't able to find Cisco. And you don't have the speed to go after him yourself." He allowed himself a low, dry laugh. "When are you going to give up?"
This earned him, as expected, another stab from the speed gun, this time just below his collarbone. The world blinked out of existence as the awful suctioning sensation came back in full force. Too quickly it was over, more quickly than ever, and that was the first indication that something was indeed amiss.
"Give it to me," Hunter's voice filtered through the haze of recovery. "Give me your speed."
"Can't find Cisco and…can't take my speed," Barry rasped. "Sounds like…"
But he didn't get to finish his sentence. The speed gun jammed into his ribs, and he jerked at the sensation of his insides being liquefied. Again, it was over quickly, and the world came back dulled and dark.
"You can't get it any more," Barry mumbled. "You…you…"
He should have sensed the impending violence before it happened, but perhaps he simply didn't care enough any more. A lack of concern for his own safety didn't, however, negate the breath-stealing agony as Hunter's claws plunged into his chest. He'd felt his before, a single claw to the gut, the rush of lifeblood when he'd already been so close to dying, broken spine and broken spirit. Now the four claws dug deep, somewhere above his heart, the same spot the fake Jay Garrick bore scars from a fake Zoom, all of it a lie—
This was no lie, not the suffering or the shock, the way Hunter's claw-like fingers curled like they were trying to pry the speed out of Barry's very muscles, searching, grasping, desperate—
Barry wailed.
"Stop!" Frost shrieked from someplace far away. "Zolomon, you bastard, stop!"
The fingers wrenched free. Released, Barry curled in on himself with a whimper and pressed a hand to the pulsing wounds. Hunger stood and faced Frost.
"What did you say to me?"
A long, unbearable pause. Barry bit the inside of his cheek, needing something else to distract himself, needing to get away from the searing beneath his skin.
Finally, quieter, Frost said, "Nothing."
"That's what I thought," said Hunter. His fingers flexed over the speed gun. He looked down disdainfully at Barry. "This will have to do for now."
Barry didn't see Hunter inject himself, or even leave. The world passed as a series of slide photographs, each transition marked by grainy darkness.
"Flash?" Frost said. The cool drawl was gone, replaced by an unnatural kind of urgency. "Hey, Flash. Stay with me, yeah? Don't you dare die. Come on, keep your eyes open."
"Why?" murmured Barry, who was already feeling the enticing droop of his eyelids. The closer he came to the darkness, the more the pain abated.
"Just stay awake," Frost said. "Tell me more about Detective West. And her father. You couldn't shut up about them before. Come on, talk to me."
"They're strong," Barry said. Blood dribbled out the corner of his mouth—he hadn't realized how hard he'd been biting the inside of his cheek. Blood was smeared on the concrete floor of the cell, too, though he wasn't sure how long it had been there. Instead of looking at it, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Joe's and Iris' faces. "They'll make it. They'll make it through this."
"Keep talking," Frost said. "Dammit, Barry, open your eyes!"
His eyelids were so heavy, he wanted to say. He couldn't lift them if he tried. He waited for Frost to scream at him, reprimand him for being weak, but he was so tired. Before he knew it, the undertow caught him and dragged him under. He still had not managed to conjure up the faces he'd been searching for.
"Do you believe that there exists absolute good and absolute evil?"
The question almost startled Caitlin. She and Jay had remained in silence for so long, silence being more comfortable than conversations about their current state, that it took her a minute to process his words. The question was so much louder than the hum and the heartbeat.
"In what? The world?"
"In people."
A moment of quiet like this was hard to come by in STAR Labs, even on the best of days. Without screaming or cheering or laughing post-mission, the building still literally hummed with life. It was more prominent down here in in the belly of the building, closer to the source of life. It had a soothing effect—or, at least, enough of a hypnotic rhythm to lull one's muscles into a false sense of security.
She kept one ear open to its familiarity, her other pressed to Jay's chest to hear his heartbeat. A rare moment of rest that they'd both reluctantly, exhaustedly, agreed to—although neither one of them had actually managed to sleep. She and Jay barely fit on the tiny couch in Cisco's workshop, but they managed. The closeness, the warmth, was not unwelcome. And, after all, Cisco was not there to tell them to Stop snuggling on my couch, you heathens.
She curled up tighter against Jay, and he traced lines up and down her arm. She scrunched up her face as she answered: "Mm. I'm not sure. I think that people make good decisions and bad decisions all the time."
"I'm not talking about decisions," Jay said. "I'm talking about people. Absolute good in people. Absolute evil in people."
His voice dropped in pitch just enough to give Caitlin pause. "Is something wrong?" she asked. Jay was quiet as he stared up at the ceiling. Caitlin twisted, rolled, so she was out of the cradle of his arm and lying face to face atop his chest. "Hey, what's the matter? What's prompting this?"
"I just can't help but feel like I'm not good enough for you," Jay finally said. "You're so much better than I'll ever be."
"That's not true," said Caitlin. "I don't know why you'd even say that. Is this about closing the breach again?" Jay said nothing. "Listen to me. I know I was upset about it, and I took it out on you, but that was unfair to you."
"I've done other bad things."
"Good people often do," Caitlin said. "Just like bad people sometimes do good things. So, no, I don't think people are either absolute good or absolute evil. I think everyone exists on more of a…spectrum. That's what makes us human, not gods or monsters."
"What about Killer Frost?"
Jay continued staring upward, so he couldn't see the way Caitlin's face froze. "What about her?"
Harry had told her all about her doppelganger, about her role in the Earth-2 mission. Her murderous tendencies, her shaky alliance, her betrayal.
"I mean, she's you, right? She's the opposite side of the Caitlin Snow coin. I haven't seen a better case of either/or. There's clearly no middle ground."
"I don't know," Caitlin said, with just a touch of creeping uncertainty. She studied the chiseled face in front of her, those dark eyes, but she couldn't discover any answers there. "Jay, I—"
"Say you're right," Jay interrupted. "What would it take for two people on opposite ends of the spectrum to make things work between them? Would they have to meet in the middle?"
"I…" Caitlin frowned. "I suppose, yeah. Meeting in the middle."
"The evil person would become a bit more good," Jay said, "and the good person would become a bit more evil."
"I don't know it works that way either. Or should." Jay's mouth tightened into a line, so Caitlin quickly amended, "But maybe." The hum of the lab threatened to overtake them again, but this time she knew it would leave them in discomfort, so she forced a smile. "I think what matters is that you make me feel absolutely good."
At long last, Jay broke his staring contest with the ceiling and simultaneously broke into a grin. "What an absolutely corny thing to say."
"Hey, we were supposed to be relaxing," Caitlin teased. "Not perpetuating the doom and gloom."
Jay brushed a strand of hair from her face, laughing softly, but she could tell he was still preoccupied. He took one of her hands in his and held it to the center of his chest.
"What about my heart?" he said. "What do you think is in there?"
Beneath Caitlin's palm, she felt the slow, warm heartbeat that she'd listened to before. She removed her hand and instead prodded at the center of his chest with the point of her finger.
"What you're feeling is your right atrium contracting and filling your right ventricle with blood. Now that contracts and moves blood to the pulmonary arteries—"
Finally a genuine bark of laughter. Satisfied, Caitlin released the finger digging into his chest and leaned down to kiss him deep. She could still sense the laugh on his lips, and she wondered if he too could sense the way her own heart sped up in response.
After an indeterminate amount of time, they broke apart, and Caitlin rolled over to again settle against his side where she fit so perfectly. His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hip, and she allowed her eyes to drift closed. Maybe she could sleep, after all.
"You're impossible, Caitlin Snow, and I love you," he said. "You make me better every day."
"I love you, too," Caitlin responded, and even as she said it, she wondered vaguely if that was the first time she'd said those words since Ronnie. She sunk deeper into his electric warmth. "And I mean that."
If you'd asked Cisco a week ago, a day ago, even a few hours ago—he wouldn't have believed he'd be sitting in the wreckage of Nora Allen's home, working side by side with his brother on goggles that would give him the power to travel dimensions. Refine your power, this Dante would say. Repeatedly, annoyingly. You have the power. These are just to help you refine what you already have.
I'll have to have a chat with my actual brother about these pep talks when I get home, Cisco wanted to say. Any camaraderie he'd hoped to build after the Snart incident was forgotten; or, at least, Dante didn't seem willing to put in the effort to restore it. To be fair, maybe neither of them were. Maybe the adrenaline of a kidnapping, the fear of loss without actual loss, wasn't enough to repair something that had been broken long ago.
Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of something like hope, like promise, while he sat beside this brother who was not his brother.
"My Dante's never been good at all of this tech stuff," Cisco commented when Dante Two held up the vibe goggles to the light. "He once called me from college and had me talk him through setting up a printer."
Dante Two chuckled lightly. "I've never been good at the tech stuff either," he explained. "But I listened to my brother enough."
"He never did that either," Cisco said. "New printer two years later. Same phone conversation."
Another laugh. "I'm sorry you were never close," said Dante Two. "Family is one of the most important principles in my life."
"It is in mine, too," said Cisco. "I just found family elsewhere."
"There's nothing wrong with that, either," Dante Two said. "I admire your commitment to them. You'll save them."
Cisco reached for a screwdriver, focusing on the goggles, suddenly unable to meet Dante Two's eyes. "I'm afraid I won't be able to save all of them. I'm…I'm abandoning one here." He tightened the screw slowly, methodically. "You saw him, didn't you? You saw Barry?"
Dante Two's silence was measured, contemplative. Finally he said, "I won't lie, he didn't look good. I don't know what Zoom's been doing to him, but…" He exhaled sharply through his nose. At once, Cisco wished he hadn't asked. "To be honest, I was mostly focused on Killer Frost."
"She's still alive?"
"More than alive, I'd say. She's in much better shape than your friend, for whatever reason."
"I know the reason," Cisco said sourly. Of course Jay hadn't killed Killer Frost. She had Caitlin's face.
He slammed the screwdriver back on the table.
"Listen," said Dante Two. "I won't tell you to take your sweet time on your earth. Zoom obviously doesn't want to kill your friend, but it didn't look like he was trying too hard to keep him alive, either."
"Barry's strong." Cisco tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat.
"So are you," Dante Two insisted. "I'm telling you, there is so much you don't even realize you can do."
"Right, so many things you know your criminal brother could do," said Cisco. A beat. "Sorry. Insensitive."
"I'm just saying—you have all the tools at your disposal to come back to this earth and take down Zoom," Dante Two said.
"Cutting off the Speed Force," Cisco said. "Yeah, absolutely, totally something I know how to do."
"You're not abandoning this earth," Dante Two said. "You're just regrouping so you can take it by storm."
A self-deprecating remark was on the tip of Cisco's tongue, but before he could get the words out, he was interrupted by Barry's voice behind him. "How's it going in here?"
Cisco started and whipped around. However, this Barry still wore glasses and a tweed jacket, not the red suit the voice invoked. Cisco didn't think he'd ever be used to it.
Nora and Iris Two also stood by expectantly, so Cisco forced himself to regain composure. "I think they're done," he said. "I think these can bring me home."
"Wonderful," said Nora. "You'd best be on your way, then. I would offer you one last meal, but I know how desperate the clock is."
"Not to mention, your kitchen is half-destroyed," said Iris Two. Cisco's eyes drifted to the bandage on her temple, and she smiled wanly. "I can tell you're about to ask how I am. I'm fine, Cisco. We'll all be fine."
"Zoom might still come looking for you," Cisco said. "Once he realizes Rupture's failed." He eyed Dante Two, half wondering if he should take the man back to Earth-1 with him. It was a silly idea, in reality—there was another Zoom on that earth, anyway.
"We can handle ourselves," said Iris Two. "You've got your own family to worry about."
It was true, Cisco knew, but he found himself sympathizing with Barry's insane need to protect a family that looked identical to his own. Barry had watched Joe's doppelganger die, and Cisco couldn't bear the thought of watching the doppelgangers of Barry and Iris die as well.
Nodding, Cisco picked up his goggles and took a few steps to an open part of the room. The rest took an involuntary step back—all but Nora, who regarded him with warm, trusting eyes.
"Thank you all so much. For everything," Cisco said. "I couldn't have done this without your help. I'll be back soon."
With that, he put on the goggles and clicked the mechanism on the side to power them up.
"Be brave, Cisco," said Nora, a parting line so heartfelt Cisco felt his eyes burn.
"And remember," added Dante Two, "power. It's there. You're capable."
"I guess we'll see," Cisco said, and raised his fist. This time, he could tell the goggles worked. Instantly, he felt that click, that attainable between-universe space sliding into focus. The breach blossomed with warmth and energy, the pull of a force much more sensory than visual. It drew Cisco forward; it drew him into darkness; it drew him home.
His feet left the Earth-2 living room floor, and the world turned blue.
Cisco's going home! But what will he find there...hm...
Thanks for reading, and seriously, thank you to everyone who has been commenting. I'm so flattered each and every week by the depth and meaning that I find in your responses. I love you all. I could also particularly use some encouragement today - so please, if you have a chance, leave your thoughts below. Nothing cheers me up quite as well as that little email notification. xx
I'm beyond excited for Sunday's chapter, y'all. See you then!
Till next time,
Penn
