Barry blinks, and finds himself surrounded by red. He turns his head, and the metallic wiring and machinery reveals itself as clearly as in high definition. The metal track stretches out before him, and he can trace the nitches in the machinery with his eyes.
He knows, with an unshakable sense of calm, what he's here to do. He's the Flash. He's here to run.
And he does; each step following the other in a seamless transition of footfall to footfall. His lungs burn, and weakness creeps through his muscles and into his bones: he can feel his very life being siphoned into the red sun he orbits.
But he isn't afraid. There isn't a trace of regret or fear in his pain wracked body. He can see his path as clearly as he can see his future. Death.
Death is something that comes after this, as surely as if it existed one step away from the track. Run off the track and into death; slip through the doorway after completing this final mission.
And he's proud of this mission: of the people and the life he leaves behind. He loves them, as surely as he loves anything, but he can't go back to them now. There isn't any grief associated with the thought - it's just the way things are.
Besides. In death, he'll still be connected to them, and he knows this with certainty too, despite not having a single shred of evidence to support this belief.
Tears slip unbidden from his eyes as the pain reaches a shrieking climaxing crescendo, pouring his life out, his time out in a conscious bid to give it to his family: to die and give his time to them. Time he would no longer be able to spend, slipping from one being to the others.
It's the strangest serenity he's ever felt: every breath of air freezes his lungs, the cloth of his uniform rubs against him with pinpoint clarity. And yet, there is a stillness, a peace that carries him gently away, even against the violence of the explosion.
Barry's eyes slide open.
He is warm.
His hands are steady as they rub his eyes, his fingers firm as they push against the bed to raise him upwards. Iris walks in and smiles at him, worry pinching the corners of her eyes.
Barry walks towards her, feeling every breeze of air, every rustle of fabric, and pulls her against him. The future is set in stone, a wall he is racing towards at an immutable pace, but he isn't scared anymore.
Barry's hands will never shake again.